


Fuss and Bustle

by Sforzie



Category: Final Fantasy II, Final Fantasy IX, Final Fantasy VI, Final Fantasy VIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Character Death, Crossdressing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Genderbending, Happy Ending, M/M, horsies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9447575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sforzie/pseuds/Sforzie
Summary: A crossover/AU set in the Old West of 1876. A trail-weary cowboy takes a few days off in the little town of Devil's Ambition. Will he find friendship in the town's mysterious saloon keeper, or will he just get himself into trouble?





	1. The Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This was written back in July 2016, so it was before the release of FFXV, and thusly before better knowledge of any certain characters.

Fuss and Bustle  
By: Sforzie

Chapter 1: The Cowboy  
Summer, 1876

He was greeted in the morning by the waking calls of the birds. That was good--they hadn’t wandered off or been stolen during the night. He yawned, throwing off his blanket and pushing up from the hard ground. He grimaced briefly at a spasm of pain in his right ankle, but then gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore it. He scanned the cloudless sky. The sun was encroaching on the distant eastern horizon, the black blanket losing its shimmer and lightening to a deep blue. He squinted until his eyes adjusted to the lacklight. The horses were still there, one still dozing and the other awake and giving him her usual look that made him think she was disgusted by his presence. He yawned until his jaw popped.

“Morning, girls.”

The awake horse snorted, the other rumbled softly in her sleep. He considered re-lighting his campfire, but decided against it. The sun would be up soon, bringing the summer heat with it, and he preferred to enjoy the cool of morning while it lasted. Instead he opted to walk around the camp. The chocobos weren’t fully awake yet. Most were motionless, heads rested on each other’s backs. The leader of the flock was awake, though, and her melodic calls were echoing across the still of the morning. There was an occasional returning call from one of the night-owls who stayed up on evening vigilance.

The stars were all but gone by the time he finished looping around the flock. The horses were awake now, lazily grooming each other’s necks, though his riding horse stopped long enough to nicker a soft greeting to him. He patted the horse’s flank.

“Don’t worry, girls, we’re about done for this ride. No stinky birds after today.”

He was glad for it, to be honest. He liked his job--driving a flock of some three-hundred chocobos along the Goodnight-Loving cattle trail to the ranch that was waiting for them near Denver--but he would be glad to take a few days off. He had mis-stepped getting off his horse a week before, planted his foot in an unseen hole, and twisted his ankle. He was getting by, but would be glad for a chance to let his foot mend before heading back south to the Highwind Ranch in Texas. A week or two off, resting his foot, medicating it with a generous amount of alcohol, and perhaps enjoying the lovely soft company of a woman--these all sounded like heaven right now to the chocobo herder.  
It had been a good drive overall. He had left Texas with a flock of three hundred and six chocobos and yearling chicobos. Thanks to amenable weather and a surprising lack of trouble from the natives, he had made good time and only lost a dozen or so of his flock. He would get a nice amount of money for completing the delivery.

“Maybe I’ll even let you have some of the good corn, Josephine,” he said to the less agreeable of his horses. She snorted at him. Yes, a human female would be much better company than warking hens and moody mares.

 

An hour after dawn, he had checked over his horses and the flock, loaded up his pack horse, and mounted the other. They were on their way north, to their destination. The chocobos didn’t know that, of course, they just knew the pattern now, getting up and making their way along the trail until he blew his whistle to let them know it was time to rest. They did not know they would be arriving at the northern Highwind ranch today, and that their short lives would be over soon. He mused, as he often did, that it was better that they did not know. Oh, to be as free as a big yellow bird! To be ignorant of your fate--to just be alive and content with the concerns of eating and fucking. That sometimes seemed like a better lot in life.

After a few hours he let the flock stop to rest and peck at the bugs in the grass. The sky was still a boring, blue bowl overhead. He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the area. Far off to the north the line of the Kansas-Pacific railway was just visible. He wasn’t looking forward to crossing that--the chocobos were horrible when it came to dealing with locomotives. They were one of the few things big enough for the birds to view as a predator, and could easily make an otherwise well-behaved flock run off in a panic. He would just have to hope there weren’t any trains passing by when he crossed the line with his flock. Another hour beyond that, northeast of Denver, was the Highwind chocobo ranch, his destination.

He watched the rail line for a few minutes while drinking a gritty cup of coffee and eating the last of his trail rations. An engine pulling a few cars made its way along the track, but otherwise there was no traffic. It gave him hope that maybe, just this once, he wouldn’t have to deal with problems on the home stretch of a drive. The big birds may have not know what fate was awaiting them, but they still always managed to muck up the last day on the trail. On his last drive there had been a terrible deluge, and they had been stuck in the mud for an extra day before being able to move on to the ranch. The ride before that, it had seemed to the cowboy that every train on the face of God’s green Earth was determined to make its way down the Kansas-Pacific, and he had been forced to sit in the cold with his flock half a mile out, waiting impatiently until nearly dark before he was able to cross the tracks. And on it went.

The tracks were quiet when he crossed with his flock early in the afternoon. This went blessedly, with the only incident being a yearling getting its foot stuck somehow on the track and having to be pulled free and toted along on the back of his horse. Another hour north and Irvine spotted a thin line of smoke rising into the sky. Squinting was enough to see the line of a fence and the roofs of ranch buildings coming into view. The birds began to flap their little wings and call as they neared the ranch--they must have smelled their own kind in the air.

He rode around to the front of the flock, bringing them to a noisy stop near the fences. He tipped the brim of his hat back to look around. He knew they were a bit ahead of schedule, but there still should have been someone there to greet them.

“Kinneas!”

He smiled as a lanky young man appeared running along the length of the fence. He was tall and wiry, sun bleached hair tousled as though he had just woken up from a post-lunch nap. A few other ranch hands trailed after him on horseback.

“Hey, there, Fred. Where’s your old man?”

“In town,” the blond man said, squinting up at him. “Weren’t expecting you so soon, though he did leave your pay for you in case you showed up.”

“Well, that’s music to these ears,” he said. He watched as the ranch hands moved in on the flock, blowing their whistles and guiding the birds away.

“Looks like a good haul, Irvine,” the young man said. “They’ll get them all counted up so you can get paid. You gonna stay for dinner?”

“Thought I might head on back to Denver and get a room for a few days,” he said. He dismounted from his horse, wincing as his ankle twinged anew. The younger man was quick to notice the look.

“Hell, your foot’s mighty swelled up, how’ve you gotten your boots off?”

“Haven’t in a few days,” he admitted as he led his horses to a watering trough. “Damned horse stopped next to a gopher hole or something and I twisted my foot getting down.”

“Oh, don’t go blaming Annabelle, she’s a perfect lady,” Fred said.

“Stop making eyes at my horse, Highwind.”

The blond laughed. “Oh, but I can’t help myself, you know we’re meant to be.”

He leaned against a fence post and gritted his teeth as he flexed his right foot. “You need to get yourself a wife, kid.”

“You’re one to talk.” Fred gestured at his foot. “If you want to see a real doctor about that, you should go to the town not far from here. They’ve got a real doctor, not the snake oil peddlers that are in Denver.”

“What town is that?”

He made a vague gesture behind him. “Devil’s Ambition. It’s about half an hour from here, just north.”

“They got women there?”

Fred laughed again. “Not many of the marrying kind.”

Irvine grinned. “I didn’t say anything about the marrying kind.”

 

Two hours later and the chocobos had been counted and sorted and were completely out of Irvine’s care and concern. In their place he had a nice new pile of bills--the first he’d received since leaving Texas a few months before--and the desire to spend some of them. He thought about going to Denver, but curiosity about the town that Fred Highwind had mentioned instead drove the cowboy north. He had heard about the town in passing before, but had never ventured there since it was past his usual stopping point. The town was easy enough to find, per the young Highwind’s instructions. Just follow the train tracks heading north out of Denver with the distant foothills to his left, and after a few miles a little town would become apparent on his right.

It wasn’t much of a town, when he found it. Just a settlement, a bit out of place, seemingly there only to get away from the ever-growing population of Denver. There were two perpendicular streets of wooden buildings with a smattering of buildings on the outskirts, and that was it. At first sight of it, Irvine had his doubts, but then the echoing laughter of women met his ears, and he carried on. He let his horse pick her way along the dusty trail that led to the town, pausing for a moment to gaze upon a few posted signs as the town itself came into better view. A hand painted sign read ‘Devil’s Ambition’ in big block letters. A smaller sign was posted beneath it, reading ‘The carrying of firearms is prohibited within the town line’. Irvine considered the dozen or so bullet holes in this particular sign, looked down at the rifle resting in its usual place on his saddle, and then shrugged before continuing to the town.

It was fairly hot that mid-afternoon, and so Irvine was not really surprised to find that the streets were mostly deserted. He made his way down the main street, scanning the buildings for signs of a livery stables. He would have to make sure his horses were properly tended to before he could do any tending to himself. He noticed two pretty, painted up young women sitting on the porch of a house with blue-painted trim, and immediately made his way in their direction.

“Excuse me, ladies, but would either of you pretty young things be able to tell me where to find the livery here in town?” He flashed them his best smile and tipped his hat back as he looked down at them. One of the women giggled and fluttered a feathered fan in front of her face.

“What do you need a livery for, cowboy? We can take care of you just fine.”

He winked at them. “I’m sure you can, but I need to take care of these ladies-” he gestured at his horse “-before I can be taking care of anyone else’s.”

There was another giggle, and then the other woman pointed down the street with her fan. “Near the intersection there, with the green sign. You won’t miss it.”

“Thank you kindly, ladies.” He tugged the front of his hat back down.

“Come back and see us when you’re done,” one of the women said. He grinned at them.

“I’m sure I’ll find the time to come and call while I’m here. Have a good afternoon, ladies.”

“Good afternoon to you, sir.”

He ignored the hot flush on the back of his neck and continued down the street. Josephine gave him a disapproving snort once they were out of earshot of the women on the porch.

“Oh, don’t be like that, I’m not cheating on you two with some whores.”

He found the livery easily enough, and had little trouble renting a place for his horses to stay while he stayed in Devil’s Ambition. The stable hand watched Irvine as he led his horses into their box and stripped them of their loads.

“Where you come from?”

Irvine glanced up from his inspection of Annabelle’s hooves. “I just dropped off a load of chocobos at the Highwind ranch.”

“Highwinds? Good enough people. The old man comes into town now and then to visit with the Undertaker.”

“Burying people?”

The stable hand shook his head slowly. “No, just friends.”

“I see,” Irvine said, although he didn’t really. He continued his inspection of his horses. “Tell me, is there a place to get a room here in town?”

“Sure, just around the corner. Same place as the saloon, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” He dusted off his hands. “What’s today?”

“Today?” The stable hand squinted thoughtfully. “Tuesday. Eleventh of July.”

“About what I thought.” Irvine scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Just around the corner, you said?”

“That’s right. Go to the crossroad and take a left. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

 

_End Chapter 1_


	2. First Sight

Chapter 2: First Sight

Once his horses were secured, Irvine hoisted his gear and made his way down the quiet street. He noticed a few men gathered on the stoop of the general store, nodded politely at them, and then continued on. He did his best not to limp on his sore ankle, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to do so. Around the corner, just as the stable hand had said, was a fairly massive--compared to much of the rest of the town--two story building. It was painted a yellow that had faded in the sun, with white trim. Elegant script on the sign over the front door read ‘Desert Palace Hotel and Saloon’. Looking around, he noticed a smaller side door with a sign that said ‘office’, but the door was locked when he tried it. So he made his way back to the front door. A sign next to the door read ‘Rooms for Rent. Feather beds, Hot meals, Fresh water.’ The door was open into the afternoon air, and so he let himself in.

The interior of the saloon was bright with sunlight streaming through the thin curtains on the windows. It wasn’t much different from most saloons he had seen, if not a bit better kept. There were nine tables and their accompanying chairs, a bar on the far wall, and a piano in the corner. A stairway near the center of the wall led up and out of sight into the second floor. The wooden walls and floor were bare, unpainted and unadorned aside from various posts and adverts tacked to the wall directly behind part of the bar. There was also another small door behind the bar, most likely leading back into the kitchen.

The tables were all vacant, except for one where a man was slumped over. Irvine couldn’t tell if he was asleep or passed out. Movement from the room’s other occupant drew his attention to the bar. A woman stood there, her back to him. She was garbed in black-dyed cotton, with a lacy purple shawl draped over her shoulders. She had lovely hair in a silvery violet shade that the cowboy had only ever seen in a painting of a French queen, pulled up into a bun that was neat excepting for a few curls that had escaped to tumble enticingly down the back of her neck. She was standing next to the bar, a piece of paper in her gloved left hand and a little nub of a pencil in her right. There was a collection of bottles on the counter top. He supposed that she was doing inventory of the contents of the bar.

The cowboy cleared his throat, and the woman paused in writing something down. She cast a brief, dismissive look over her shoulder at him.

“We’re not open yet,” she said, her voice low and thrilling to Irvine’s trail-wearied ears. “If you’re looking for a whore, try the house down the street. The one with the blue trim.”

For a moment, Irvine wasn’t quite sure what to say. He cleared his throat again. “Perhaps later. Right now I’m lookin’ for a room for a few nights.” He took a half step into the saloon. “You do have those, don’t you? That’s what the sign outside said.”

Her head was still turned slightly, and he could see the line of her jaw work in annoyance at him. “Yes, of course.” She set the piece of paper and little pencil down on the counter top and half turned to look at him. This, of course, had the added benefit of letting the cowboy get a better look at the woman. She was primly dressed, everything covered all the way up her neck. Not very big up top, but Irvine had never been one to hold that against a woman. She had a straight, almost stiff bearing, as though her formative years had been spent at some prissy boarding school. He looked up at her face and swallowed. Hell, she was _beautiful_ , what was she doing in a saloon? A slim little upturned nose, angular chin and jaw, somewhat pouty lips painted a modest shade of rosy pink, fair, smooth skin, and slightly shadowed blue eyes that were now fixed on his face. She looked older than him, he thought, maybe nearly thirty. Married? He couldn’t tell, she was wearing gloves that concealed any rings she might had been wearing. The overall effect of her appearance was slightly off-putting, as though there were something wrong with the way she looked. Like she was some carefully crafted statue or doll, made just so, just right, so that her image would linger in his memory long after he left town.

He waited for the woman to say something before realizing that her gaze was twitching back and forth slightly--she was studying him as well. He wanted to teasingly ask her if she liked what she saw, but managed to hold himself back for the time being. He could flirt with this strange, beautiful woman later. For now, he just needed a room.

The woman pursed her lips for a moment, her gaze shifting away, inventory completed. “I don’t usually rent rooms to cowboys and chokes. Too noisy. Too much trouble.”

“Please, ma’am. I ain’t here to cause any trouble. Just want to take a few days to rest up before I head back to Texas.”

There was a snort from the man face down at the table, and Irvine wondered if he’d said something wrong. The woman briefly shot a look in the direction of the tables, but then sighed and looked back at him.

“Alright, fine. But if you cause any trouble I’m turning you right over to Sheriff Leonhart.” She pointed a gloved finger at his pack. “I’d put that rifle away while you’re here, too.”

“I saw what was left of the sign on my way into town.”

She squinted up at him for a long moment, lips screwed up and working from side to side. “Five dollars for the week. Nine, if you want meals.”

“That cheap?”

“I gave you a discount for your good-looking face,” she said. “Don’t go letting your dumb mouth make it more expensive.” The woman turned toward the empty tables and barked sharp as any chocobo caller. “Zidane! Get your hide up, we have a customer.”

The man slumped over at the table grumbled, his shoulders shifting slightly but his posture unchanging.

“Nine dollars, room 8. Don’t forget to log him in the register. Room and meals for a week.”

There was another grunt. The man’s back arched with a boneless fluidity, pulling his head up into something resembling a seated position. “Why can’t you do it?”

She gestured at the bottles. “I’m working.”

“I could do that.”

“You’d have the inventory off before you finished.” She pointed at the stairs. “Now.”

The blond haired man got to his feet with a heavy sigh. He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Alright, alright. Don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

“Do it and I’ll let you go pick some things up at the general store. I believe Ruby’s working today.”

The blond man stretched his arms over his head. “You have a way with words, _ma chère soeur_.”

“Don’t press your luck.”

He headed toward the stairs, beckoning to the cowboy. “Follow me.”

Irvine made his way up the stairs after the lanky man. “Did you call her ‘sir’?”

“Hmm, no, no. ‘ _Soeur_.’ Means sister in French. She’s my sister.”

“Oh. You’re French?”

“Not exactly. Our father, god rest his soul, was from Louisiana. Used to speak French at us. I guess it rubbed off.”

“Oh.”

“I just talk it at her sometimes now because it irks her.”

“Don’t you get along with your sister?”

“Oh, sure. Sure. You’re the one who should be worried about her, not me.”

He blinked. “Why is that?”

The blond just looked at him and let out a wheezing laugh. “You called her ‘ma’am’.”

“So? I was being respectful.”

“She hates that. Thinks it makes her sound like some old spinster. Just call her ‘Miss Kuja’ and you’ll be fine, okay?” The man, Zidane, stopped at a cabinet on the wall. He pulled a set of keys from his trouser pocket and used one of them to unlock the cabinet. He pulled out a small leather bound book and a pencil. “Let’s see. She said room 8, right?”

“I think so.”

Zidane scribbled something in the book. “She must think you’re cute. Gave you the room with the best view.” He pointed the tip of the pencil at the cowboy. “Don’t try anything funny with her though, alright?”

“That’s my business, not yours.”

“That’s what they all say.” He held out the book and pencil. “Write your name in there. Fee’s nine dollars for the first week.”

He took the pencil in his left hand, looking in the book for the spot that Zidane was indicating. The page was blank, except for a few hand drawn lines with numbers and names on them. He found a line with no name: ‘Room 8, July 11th, week, RM, $9’. Zidane’s handwriting was impeccably small and neat. Irvine pencilled his name in and then handed back the book. After accepting nine dollar bills from the cowboy, Zidane carefully locked the book, pencil, and money away in the cabinet.

“Just down the hall here.” He stopped in front of a door with the number eight stenciled on it and pulled a key off the ring. “This is your key. Don’t lose it, or Kuja might have an actual litter of kittens. The last fella that lost his key left town without any of his stuff because she wouldn’t let him back into his room once she got the door open.”

Irvine grimaced. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you need something during the day, one of us is usually downstairs, or in the kitchen.”

“What about at night?”

Zidane shrugged. “If you can find us, fine. Otherwise, I’d just recommend not getting yourself into trouble at night.” He rapped his knuckles on the door. “You’re a grown man, you figure it out.”

“Right.”

“We serve breakfast downstairs after dawn, and supper after the three-o’clock bells. Bar opens after supper.”

“Got it. Thank you, Zidane.”

The blond gave him a half salute before turning and ambling off in the direction of the stairs. Irvine let himself into his rented room and looked around. It was a simple enough space. There was a modestly sized bed with a feather stuffed mattress and pillow and a blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. A footlocker with fittings for a padlock was at the foot of the bed. On the opposite wall stood a wash basin with a chamber pot underneath it. A small silvered mirror hung on the wall above the wash basin. There was a small table next to the bed with an oil lamp sitting on it. Other than that, the room was empty. Irvine went to the window and pulled the curtain back. He peered curiously, noting the various buildings that were visible from his room. There was a porch that lined the front side of the building he was in, with a few wooden chairs scattered here and there. He made a mental note to figure out how to get onto the porch later. Across the street was another larger, rather ostentatious looking building with two men standing out front holding rifles. On the opposite corner was the police station, and the general store was visible as well. Irvine took this all in, and then tugged the curtains closed.

He set his gear down on the floor next to the wash basin. After some searching in his bags he found his padlock. His rifle and other more valuable belongings went into the footlocker and were locked away. He tied the padlock key to the room key and tucked them away in his pocket. He took off his hat and set it on top of the footlocker, and then draped his duster over that. He took off his vest and ammo belt and chaps and added them to the pile as well before sitting on the edge of the bed. The left boot came off easily enough, but it took several minutes of careful tugging to remove the right boot without damaging his ankle or the boot.

Then he flopped back on the bed, marveling at the softness compared to the hard ground he had slept on the night before, and quickly fell asleep.

 

He awoke in the near dark to the sound of laughter below him. For a moment he tensed, but then recognized the laughter as something pleasant and not sinister, and was able to relax. He had slept for a few hours, it seemed, as there was only the faintest of daylight still creeping in around the edge of the curtains. He got up and limped over to the window. He could see a gathering of people down in the street below, talking animatedly and laughing, their faces lit up by light coming from the saloon. Below him, Irvine could hear the cheerful tinkling of a piano, and a woman singing. He considered going back to bed and relaxing, but then something pricked at his mind, a stray thought of a pretty woman, and he decided to freshen up a bit and go downstairs. Surveying his room, he noticed that the wash basin had been filled while he slept. He decided not to worry about that for time being, and instead washed off his face and splashed a bit of water on his hair. He would have to see where he could get a proper bath some time while he was here in town. He pulled his toiletry kit out of his pack and combed his hair before tying it back into a fairly neat ponytail. He pulled his vest back on, but decided to leave the rest off. Last back on were his boots. The right one was almost as much a struggle to put back on as it had been to take off before.

When he was ready he locked his door and made his way down the hall. The sound of a dozen or more intermingling voices drifted up to him from the stairwell. He let himself limp until he reached the stairs, and then bucked it up and walked properly as he made his way down. The saloon below was much more lively now that it had been when Irvine had arrived earlier in the afternoon. Five or six of the tables were occupied by men playing cards and drinking. He spotted Zidane at one of the table, sipping on a glass and talking to a man with dark pink hair. There was a man with fiery red hair seated at the piano, and a pretty little blonde girl standing next to it and singing some old standard. A big darker skinned man--half mexican, perhaps?--was working at the bar now. He spotted the lovely silver violet coif of the saloon keeper at the end of the bar. She was talking to a short man with messy blond hair, a vaguely annoyed look on her face. Irvine noted that aside from the singing girl and Kuja, there were no women at the saloon.

“Oh, hey, there he is!” Zidane’s voice came to him over the din. Irvine noted that the saloon keeper’s brother was now half up in his seat and waving at him. “Irvine, over here! I was just telling Ardy about you!”

“Only good things, I hope,” Irvine said as he made his way over to the table and took a seat.

“Tried to guilt me about not paying my rent on time,” the pink haired man said. He had an English accent that seemed slightly out of place in the saloon. The man offered a hand across the table. “Name’s Ardyn Izunia. Pleasure to meet you.”

He shook the man’s hand. “Irvine Kinneas.”

“Splendid, splendid. Zidane here tells me it’s your first night in Ambition. We should go to Mama Ulti’s and find you a girl.”

“That’s how Ardy likes to welcome everyone to town,” Zidane said. He gestured at the deck of cards on the table. “You play?”

“Maybe after a bit of whiskey.”

“I like you already, Irvine.” The pink haired man raised his voice. “Rude! Bring some whiskey for my new best friend!”

 

Irvine awoke the next morning with a mild headache and the vague impression that he had indeed had a good time the night before. He couldn’t quite remember in perfect detail what had transpired, but that was more a testament to the good time than to anything else. He thought perhaps that Ardyn had taken him to the local whorehouse and introduced him to some of his favorite girls, but that nothing had went on beyond a bit of drinking and pleasant, half dressed introductions. He was quite certain that if something more interesting had happened, he would be able to remember the occurrence. He hadn’t drunk that much, after all. The only person he could remember with any clarity from the whore house was the matron of the business herself, a woman referred to by most as Mama Ulti. She was a tall, very busty woman with long platinum blonde hair and a red robe that left little to the imagination when it came to the appearance of her cleavage. He recalled her as being aloof, lounging on a couch on the side of the main parlor and watching the ongoings silently, speaking slowly when she did, her accent a bit peculiar and something he hadn’t heard before. But, that was all he could really recall. It had been a good night.

He was eventually able to convince his body to get up and out of bed. He splashed his face off and inspected his reflection in the little silver mirror. All things considered, he did not look as bad as he could have. No new scratches or bruises that he was going to have to figure out the origins of, at least. His ankle smarted worse than it had the day before, and he supposed that drunkenly stumbling around wasn’t really the best treatment for his injury. He would have to stick to just drinking downstairs at the saloon for the next few days.

When he went downstairs, his nose was assailed by the smell of bacon and eggs. His stomach growled.

A low, smooth voice met his ears: “Oh, there’s the cowboy.” It was the saloon keeper. “Sweetheart, fix a plate for the cowboy.” She looked up at him. “Mr. Irvine, wasn’t it?”

He turned to look at Kuja. “Yes, m-” He stopped himself, hazily remembering Zidane’s words from the afternoon before. “Miss Kuja.”

Her pinked lips pulled into a thin smile, and she breezed past him to where several men were seated at the tables. Irvine watched her bustled behind for a moment. “Need some birch powder, Mr. Irvine?”

“If you had some, I wouldn’t complain.” He looked at the tables and rubbed at his forehead. “Where is Zidane, anyways?”

She shrugged and moved on past the occupied tables, heading to the bar. “I don’t know, and I don’t really care, as long as the sheriff doesn’t have him locked up again.”

“Again?”

“He occasionally gets himself locked up for drunken public indecency,” she said. He watched her stoop behind the bar. “If it happens again, he’ll probably throw away the key. I don’t know what I’ll do, then.”

Irvine sat at one of the vacant tables, sighing softly with relief as he took the weight off his right foot. He tilted his head to look toward the bar, where Kuja was now mixing some powder into a small glass of water. He found himself watching her hands, wondering idly at the lacy gloves that she was wearing. Today, as yesterday, she was covered from chin to toes, today in dark blue cotton trimmed with off-white lace. She looked as lovely as she had the afternoon before, as though she had not been up half the night dealing with her drunken customers. She was poised and practiced in her movements. She also was definitely not looking at him when she spoke. He wondered if he’d done something inappropriate around her the night before.

She left the bar and set the glass on the table top. “Wait until you’ve eaten a bit before you drink that or you’ll just vomit it back up.”

“Thank you.” He watched her hurry away, around the bar and through a small door. In her place emerged another figure, this one the dainty blonde girl he had seen singing the night before. She had bright, pale blue eyes and brighter blonde hair pulled back in a braid. She stopped to refill the glasses of a boarders from a pitcher of milk, and then made her way to Irvine’s table.

“Good morning, Mister Irvine,” the girl said, setting a plate and a glass of milk down in front of him. “Did you have a good time last night?”

“I can’t complain too much, Miss...” He trailed off, his mind unable to dredge up her name. She giggled.

“Quistis.”

“Sorry. I’m still waking up.”

She smiled brightly. Her eyes darted to the doorway for a moment, and then she plopped down in the unoccupied chair adjacent to his own. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them, watching him as he ate his breakfast. He watched her back. She was a young thing, perhaps a few years younger than he himself. No rings on her fingers, but a little carved wooden cross on a knotted leather chain around her neck. She was wearing bright blue wool, nowhere as demure as the saloon keeper, the front lines just low enough to offer a teasing hint of her bust.

“So tell me, what’s a pretty little thing like you doing working in a place like this?”

“Oh, I’m not working. I’m just helping Miss Kuja out.”

“You don’t get paid?”

The girl shrugged. “I get an allowance.” She tilted her head slightly in the direction of the doorway. “I live here, with Miss Kuja and her brother.”

“You her daughter?”

Her cheeks pinked. “Oh, gracious, no! She’s not nearly that old.” Quistis covered her mouth with a thumb and giggled again. “I wouldn’t suggest that too loudly around Miss Kuja. She doesn’t take too kindly to being called old.”

“So, more of an older sister.”

She smiled. “Yes, something like that.”

He took a sip of milk. “But, still. Same question. What are you still doing here? You should be off getting married and making cute little babies by now.”  
Quistis’s gaze shifted to look at her knuckles. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Just haven’t, yet. Miss Kuja scares off any suitors that might come my way. Says I deserve better than that.”

“I’m sure she’s just trying to protect you.”

“I guess so.”

He grinned playfully at her. “I’d offer to marry you, but I’m afraid I came to town with two women already.”

Her brows arched. “Oh?”

“Yes, but they’re over at the livery stables right now.”

It took the girl a moment to realize what he meant, but then she laughed softly. “You’re a tease, Mister Irvine.”

“That might be in the list of things I’ve been accused of being, yes.” He picked up the glass of water that Kuja had left. “I should probably check on them. You could come along, if you want.”

“Oh, I have chores to do, though...”

“Maybe later, then.”

She smiled and nodded. “I think I’d like that, Mister Irvine.”

He smiled in return. “Well, good.”

 

Irvine spent most of the day taking it easy. It wasn’t something he was entirely used to, he was more accustomed to working from dawn until dusk, but he thought he managed the whole thing well enough. He went and checked on his horses, the both of which who seemed to be greatly enjoying their break from running the trails. Then he took a nap, had a bit of lunch, and spent half the afternoon paging through his journal. Then there was supper, a spot of drinking in the saloon, and then back upstairs to his room to sleep.

He did not stay asleep very long, though, and after a few hours found himself lying awake in bed. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the various soft noises of the night. It was quieter now. The saloon must have been closed for the night, and the town had more or less all gone to bed. Irvine got up and looked out the window. The sky was dark, graced by a veil of stars and the half full moon. The streets below were empty, the windows of the various buildings in his vicinity all dark, save for one in the imposing house across the street. He pulled on his shirt and left his room, going down the hall until he found a small door that led out to the porch. The air outside was cooler and less stuffy than within, and he took a few deep breaths. He noticed the smell of tobacco lingering in the air and looked around. Down, far at the end of the porch and nearly out of sight at the corner, a figure stood, leaning on the railing. He moved closer, and recognized the silvery hair as it shimmered in the moonlight. The gloved fingers were holding the last little nub of a cigarette as it shed its ashes into the night air.

“I didn’t think you the smoking type,” he said to announce himself. The saloon keeper’s shoulders jerked minutely, but she did not look his way.

“Consider it an indulgence,” she said.

He moved closer, slowly down the line of the railing. “An indulgence, eh? What other things does a pretty woman like you like to indulge in?”

She tipped her head away from him. “Don’t even start.”

“You can’t blame a fella for trying.” He smiled and moved closer, coming to a stop a few feet away from where Kuja was still leaning against the railing. She glanced at him.

“Is the relentless flirting with every woman you meet intentional, or just something you do?”

He grinned at her. “I haven’t yet met a woman that wasn’t worth at least a little effort.”

“Then, you’re a better man than most,” she murmured. He watched her gaze cast back out across the street, toward the opposing building.

“That place there, what is it?”

“That’s the mayor’s house,” Kuja said. Her nose wrinkled. “Mateus Palamecia. Some people refer to him as ‘The Emperor’, since he lords over everyone. He owns half the town, keeps the rest under his thumb through debt.”

“Even you?”

“At first, but not any more. I was to get myself out of that debt a few years ago.”

“Good for you.”

She smiled briefly, but the look faded. “He’s not a good man. I may have gotten out of his thrall, but he isn’t done with me.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s not anything for you to concern yourself with,” she said, and pushed away from the railing. “Just enjoy your break, Mr. Kinneas, and leave this town behind. It’s probably the best thing you can do with your life.” She turned to walk away, but he moved forward, quickly grabbing her hand.

“Wait!”

She looked over her shoulder, first down at their hands, and then back up at him. Her expression was guarded, reproachful. She tugged her hand free from his grasp. “Don’t.”

He watched her go, wondering at the uneasy fluttering in his throat. He swallowed, and then went back to bed.

 

End Chapter 2


	3. Least Wanted

Chapter 3: Least Wanted

The next two days were, if anything, uneventful. Devil’s Ambition was a tiny little town situated in a location that made it ideal for the local ranchers to come in for supplies and entertainment without having to traverse all the way to Denver, and little else. So Irvine passed the time listening to Zidane run his mouth about local gossip, napping, and drawing little pictures of the local scenery in his journal. Miss Kuja remained aloof, Miss Quistis just out of reach, and Mama Ulti’s girls just out of his budget.

He lay on his bed on Friday afternoon, slipping between dozing and daydreaming about the pretty girls at the whorehouse. They had been a nice enough bunch, from what he had seen, but not really what he was entirely interested in. He had started to doze off again, when the sound of the piano downstairs drifted to his ears. It was being played quite softly, delicately, as though the player did not want to attract any attention. Curious, Irvine got up, pulling on his socks and shirt and limping his way down the hall to the stairs.  
The music was still playing. It wasn’t the redhead that was usually playing at night--Reno never showed up until after the first round of drinks had been poured. So, who was playing? He crept down the stairs, one at a time, not wanting to alert the player to his presence. The light, lively notes of ‘Camptown Races’ met his ears as he reached the bottom step. He leaned against the wall, smiling as the piano and its player came into view.

Kuja was seated there, her gloved hands moving precisely over the black and white keys. As he leaned to look, he could see her pink lips moving silently along with the song. When the song finished, she rubbed her hands together for a moment, making a soft, grumbling noise in her throat. Then she started to play again. This time it was ‘Oh! Susanna’, a song that he knew the words to well enough. He waited until she reached the chorus, and then piped in.

“Oh! Susanna, don’t you cry for me, I’m going to California, with a washpan on my knee!”

Kuja’s shoulders jerked and she stopped playing. She looked over her shoulder at him, eyes a touch wide and her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“Those aren’t the words,” she said in a chastising tone.

“That’s how I learned it,” he said, and made his way over to the piano. “Why’d you stop playing?”

“You startled me. It isn’t proper to sneak up on a woman, you know.”

He smiled. “I wasn’t sneaking, I was just enjoying the show.”

Kuja huffed softly and rubbed at her chin. “I can’t play with an audience.”

“That’s okay. I can’t really sing with an audience, unless it’s a few hundred chocobos.”

She smiled. “You sing to the chocobos?”

“Of course. They’re birds, they like singing. As long as it’s in tune. They can be very finicky if you don’t get the notes to ‘Dixie’ just right.”

Kuja made an amused noise. “Confederate chocobos?”

“Well, that would explain why we have to take them up north to be butchered and then sent to New England for eating.”

“I suppose so.” She brushed a stray bit of silvery hair back from her eyes. Irvine watched the motion, looking at the neat bun her hair was in and wondering what it would look like loose and flowing freely. “Do you have any, um, chocobo songs?”

He thought. “There aren’t really that many. Chocobo drives are still kind of a new thing, after all. But, I think I can manage one for you.” He leaned in next to her to play a few notes on the piano. She inhaled sharply, softly, as he drew closer. Irvine tilted his head, inhaling briefly and smelling her perfume. It was a gentle smell, of roses and honeysuckle. He smiled and righted himself, clearing his throat as he leaned on the piano.

“Somewhere on the south end of Colorado, oh I lost my birds in five feet of snow, hey chocobo, where did you go? The night is coming and the wind is cold...”

 

“Just you wait, Zidane. You’ll see. Some day, I’m gonna marry her right out from under Mama’s nose.”

“You tell ‘em, Balthier.”

“I will!”

It was Friday night now, and Irvine was listening to Zidane council the romantic trials of one of the other boarders. He was a charming fellow named Balthier, who unfortunately was in love with one of the girls under Mama Ulti’s employment.

The man, hunched over the table, scrubbed his fingers through his sun bleached brown hair. “My poor Franny. My poor Franny.”

Zidane patted him on the back. “Hey, why don’t we play another hand of cards? That’ll ease your mind.”

“You already got my pocket money for the week, Zidane,” the man said, his tone a bit pitiful.

“I’ll spot you for the next hand, okay?” Zidane’s hand stilled as the door to the saloon creaked open. He muttered under his breath: “Shit.”

Curious, Irvine half turned in his seat to look at the door. Many of the other patrons of the saloon had fallen quiet, or were doing their level best to ignore the figure that was now dominating the doorway. He was very tall, broad shouldered, dirty blond hair cropped short, with the line of a scar crossing over his nose. The man was wearing a gray duster over a blue vest and black trousers, and it fluttered as he made his way through the saloon, boots clacking loudly on the wooden floor. There was a gun holstered on his right hip. Irvine thought he had the sort of face that belonged on a wanted poster. Dangerous and smug with a fierce grin that made Irvine uncomfortable. He had a swagger to him, an unspoken open invitation to challenge his existence.

“Who’s that?” he whispered.

“Seifer Almasy,” Zidane whispered back.

The man stopped near the end of the bar. Miss Kuja was standing there, looking lovely in greens and golds, a feathered fan gripped in her right hand and held up near her face. She was staring--no, perhaps glaring was a more accurate term--at Seifer as he stopped within touching distance.

“Well, good evening, Miss Kuja. You are looking as lovely as ever.”

Kuja’s lips barely moved as she hissed out a greeting in response: “Seifer, what are you doing here?”

“Now, that’s no way to greet a friend, Kuja.”

She glared up at him--Kuja was not a short woman, but Seifer still towered over her--and twitched the fan in front of her face. Seifer reached out slowly and took her free hand in his own.

“I hope you’re not intending to come in here and start a fight,” she said. Irvine saw a smirk spring to the man’s lips.

“Not unless you were needing a fight started,” he said.

“Not hardly,” Kuja said, and pulled her hand free.

Seifer grunted and jerked his chin, looking away. Irvine watched the man scan the saloon before settling his gaze on the bartender. “Naw, hell, me and the family are just in town because we heard there was going to be a wedding soon!” He slapped a big hand on the end of the bar. “Ain’t that right, Rude, ol’ boy? Finally gonna stop livin’ in sin with that sweetheart of yours?”

The bartender said nothing, and barely moved to acknowledge the blond man’s barked words.

“You’re really one to talk about living in sin,” Kuja said.

Seifer flicked his fingers at the feathered fan. “And you?”

“I go to church every Sunday,” she said. “Can’t say I see you there every week.”

“I go when I need to.”

“Maybe the Sheriff will feel generous and let you go before they hang you.”

Seifer snorted. “The sheriff and his pet chicken ain’t gonna do a damned thing to me, and you know it.”

Kuja sighed and turned away. “You’re going to keep saying that until they do.” She was fully facing Irvine now, and the cowboy was surprised to see something flicker across her pretty features. Was that sadness? Regret? The emotion lasted too briefly for him to get a proper read on it. Quick as it came, it was gone, and the fan was back up, half masking the irritated look on Kuja’s face.

Seifer turned as well, his pale blue eyes narrowing as he looked at Irvine. His gaze flicked down to the top of Kuja’s head, and then back to the cowboy. Irvine felt a chill slither its way down his back as the man’s eyes narrowed further.

“Now, what--”

“Seifer Almasy, what the hell are you doing in here.” It was a statement, not a question, that shifted the situation. Irvine turned in his seat to look at the door. Its opening and closing had gone unnoticed at the bar. A man stood there, brown haired and black suited and rather diminutive in appearance. He had his hands on his hips, one resting just above the gun on his right hip. Seifer let out a snort.

“Don’t you get yourself in a twist, Squall, I’m just saying hello to my friends. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s Sheriff Leonhart, not Squall,” the man at the doorway said, his tone wooden.

“ _Sheriff_ ,” Seifer echoed, rolling his eyes. He turned away from Kuja to face the other man. “What do you want?”

“You aren’t supposed to be in town, you know that. No unless you’d like to take a walk with me.”

“Long walk and a short drop,” Kuja muttered. Irvine watched the frown crease angles of the taller man’s face. The sheriff’s expression was neutral to a fault. Even as Seifer made his way slowly to the door, tips of his thick fingers tapping on his gun, the sheriff’s expression did not change.

“Why don’t we go outside, Seifer.”

“I’ll go outside, but it ain’t gonna be on account of you--” The last word was punctuated by a soft cracking sound as the man’s right hand whipped out, gun in its grip, and belted the sheriff across the nose. The saloon was silent in shock as the sheriff was shoved aside, and the door pushed open. Seifer stepped out into the twilight, and the door swung shut again. Irvine heard a woman shouting outside the saloon.

“Seifer! You arse, what are you doing here? I would shoot you myself--”

“Oh, shut your mouth, you miserable little witch!” There was a cry from a horse.

A mousy little woman with black hair charged her way into the saloon and hurried over to where the sheriff was on the floor, unmoving. Irvine couldn’t see the sheriff, but saw blood on the woman’s hands when she raised them.

Irvine noticed the saloon keeper turn on her heel and hurry off up the stairs. He frowned.

“Mother of piss,” Balthier muttered. “That man is a terror.”

Irvine pushed away from the table and got to his feet. Zidane looked at him.

“Where you going?”

“Just need to run upstairs for a second. Gotta use the pot. Save my seat, alright?”

“Of course.”

Irvine made his way up the stairs. He looked around. There was no sign of Kuja. He wondered if perhaps she had went to her private rooms at the end of the hall. There was no way of knowing, since those doors were always locked, and so instead he decided to look out on the porch. He wasn’t quite sure what was driving him to do so.

She was there, leaning on the railing and looking down at the street below. As he approached her, looking down he could see three horses riding off down the dusty street, into the sunset. Seifer was on the lead, a white horse, like some messed up kind of knight.

Irvine shifted his attention to Kuja and watched her for a moment. He leaned on the railing, only a foot or so away from the saloon keeper, and cleared his throat.

“Listen, I don’t know what happened between you and him. And I don’t really care. It’s not any of my business. I just want to know that you’re alright.”

Kuja’s voice was soft. “Why?”

He shifted on his feet. His ankle was sore from surmounting the stairs. He thought of Kuja, smiling softly while seated at the piano. That woman seemed so different from the tense, unhappy figure before him. “It’s not in my nature to leave a woman in distress.”

“That’s very noble of you.”

“Not really. Just doing the right thing.”

“I see.” She was quiet, picking at the lacy cuff of her sleeve. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

He wasn’t sure where that had come from. “I don’t know. Attraction at first sight, sure. But, I mean, what if your first sighting of someone is at the wrong time? Or they’re just having a bad day and you just don’t see them in their best light?”

“So, no.”

He shrugged. She pulled at the cuff of her left glove.

“Have you ever been in love, cowboy?”

“In love?” He thought about the question. “I don’t suppose so. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Just never found the right girl yet.” He shrugged. “I figure there ain’t a rush. I’ll find her when I find her.”

Kuja turned her face away from the western sky, but did not quite look at him. “I was in love, once. In love with a man, quick with a gun and full of all sorts of fanciful romantic aspirations. Like something out of a book. We had a good thing going, for nearly two years. And then he... he...” She faltered and shook her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then he met someone else and broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, by compulsion.

“You don’t have to be,” she said. “It’s just the same old story, told time and again forever. Women only exist to be loved and left behind.”

“That’s not true,” he said, and scooted a bit closer on the railing. “He just wasn’t the right man for you, that’s all.”

“Is it that simple?”

“Of course. Why should it be more complicated than that?”

She sighed. “Your thoughts have an enviable simplicity, Irvine.”

He wasn’t quite sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Kuja worked her lower lip between her teeth for a moment.

“That man I loved. He... left me for another man. Not a woman. But that man is a bad person, and he’s turned the man I loved into a bad person as well.”

He considered this. “You mean Seifer.”

“Yes.” She sighed again and seemed to slump all the way from shoulders to bustle. “He was always cocky and full of himself, but not like he is now. He liked to fight, but wasn’t so pointlessly violent.” She worried at her lip again. “He didn’t have his name on a wanted poster at the sheriff’s office, back then.”

“You sound like you’re still carrying a torch for him.”

Her eyelids drooped. “No, not really. I suppose some part of me would like all that back, but I know it’s gone now.”

“Well, maybe you’re better off. What kind of man leaves a beautiful woman like you for a... a _man_? I mean, I doubt there’s any man as pretty as you in all of the country.”

Her smile was brief and bitter. “I suppose Seifer just saw something in him that he didn’t see in me.”

“He needs to get his eyes checked, then.”

“I’m more than just a pretty face, cowboy.” She shook her head. “There’s more to a woman than just her looks. You have to get to know her, what’s going on in her head.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the street. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

She blinked. “What?”

“A walk. To help clear your head. I mean, we could talk more. Do some of that getting to know you business.”

“Oh.” She smiled faintly. “I thought your ankle was hurting you.”

“It is. Doesn’t mean I can’t walk on it.”

Kuja pursed her lips. “It’s a nice offer, but I’ll have to pass tonight.”

“Maybe some other time?”

She gave a slow nod. “Yes, maybe.”

He smiled. “Well, good.” Irvine pointed over his shoulder. “I should, uh, probably be getting back downstairs. The boys are probably waiting for me so they can deal in the next hand.”

She reached out her hand and lightly touching his sleeve. “Could you maybe wait a few minutes? It’s too soon for me to go back down just yet.”

He looked at his arm, at the pale yellow lace pressed against the dirty blue of his sleeve. “Seifer hit the sheriff.”

“I know. It’s not the first time. Until he’s dead, it probably won’t be the last.” She looked at the street as the door to the saloon below squeaked open and light spilled out onto the dirt. Irvine leaned to look as well. He saw the sheriff stagger out, a bloodied hand covering his face. The woman from before had his arm and was guiding him away, muttering in a chastising tone.

“Will he be alright?”

“Probably. Squall is about as hard headed as they come.” Kuja smiled. Irvine snorted a laugh, and then covered the hand on his arm with his own rough hand.

“Kuja, I know this is a bit forward, but I... if you wouldn’t object, I’d like to be your friend.”

Her brows arched, but she didn’t say anything.

“Just your friend, mind you. Now that I know you have a thing for bad boys, I’m not sure we’d work out.”

She smiled ruefully and shook her head. “Church is on Sunday morning, after sunrise.”

“Hm?”

Kuja looked up at him. “Come to church, and I’ll think about letting you be my friend.”

“Why church?”

She shrugged and pulled her hand free. “It’ll irritate the piss out of the preacher.”

He smiled. “Alright. I’ll try to make it.”

 

On Saturday afternoon, Irvine made his way over to the general store. He had been in there a few times before, buying a bit of crackers and cheese when he had missed a meal at the saloon. The store was run by a peculiar mishmash of people that seemed to be more some kind of wayward theater troupe than a proper family. There was only one woman in the lot, a pretty thing with dirty blonde hair that Zidane was infatuated with. She wasn’t working the store today, though. Today, Irvine found as his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit main room of the store, he found behind the counter a large man wearing glasses over his piggish face.

“Hey, good afternoon, Baku.”

The large man smiled and adjusted his glasses. “Good day to you, Mr. Kinneas. Did you miss your meal, again?”

“Oh, no, no. I just came in to... you know. Buy something.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that.” Baku swung a hand in a grandiose gesture at the claustrophobicly cramped walls of the store. Shelves and barrels and crates filled every possible open space that wasn’t needed for walking. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

Irvine took off his hat and turned to look at the walls. “Well, since I was in town I thought I would go to church tomorrow.”

“An admirable decision, sir.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have any ‘Sunday best’ to wear. Been wearing the same couple of shirts now since last time I left Texas.” He looked back at the shopkeep. “Thought I might get a new shirt to wear, you know?”

The thick man nodded his head. “Yes, yes, a good shirt is a good thing to have in case you need to get buried.”

“I wasn’t planning on getting buried any time soon.”

Baku chuckled and adjusted his glasses. “That’s up for God to decide, son.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if I’m dressed half clean for church, he’ll let me go on a bit longer. Did you have anything in stock?”

“As it so happens, our little Ruby is something of a seamstress, so we do usually have some clothing items in stock.” The big man made his way from around the counter and shuffled over to one of the walls. He moved a box of rifle cartridges and opened the lid of a crate. “Let’s see, let’s see...” He closed the lid and looked back at Irvine, squinting.  
“Perhaps a new pair of trousers, too, eh? Those are starting to look a bit thin around the knees.”

Irvine looked at his knees, and then to the shop keeper. “Maybe. Shirt first.”

 

After finishing his business at the general store--wherein he ended up buying a new shirt, a new pair of dark woolen pants, and a new pair of socks--he made his way back to his room at the Desert Palace. As he made his way down the hall, he heard the voice of Ardyn Izunia booming from his room, reciting what sounded to the cowboy like nursery rhymes. Irvine just shook his head and continued on to his own room. He set his packages down and retrieved his shaving kit. A look in the mirror proved a somewhat distressing sight. His nose was peeling from a half-healed sunburn, and the lower half of his face was under siege by a week and a half’s worth of not shaving. He usually had to keep fairly clean-faced around the chocobos. For reasons unknown to him or any other man, the big birds hated a beard. He’d been letting himself go since delivering the last load of chocobos earlier in the week.

He had nearly finished scraping off the last clinging bit of copper colored fuzz when there was a knock on his door.

“Hey, cowboy! You ready to crack open a bottle and play some cards?”

Irvine picked up a towel and patted at his face as he went to open the door. “Hey, Zidane.”

The petit blond looked up at him. “Oh, hey, look at you. What did you shave for?”

He shrugged. “Habit?”

Zidane fidgeted a deck of cards between his hands. “Makes you kind of distinguished looking.”

“That so?”

He nodded. “You’ve got, like, one of those strong jawlines.”

Irvine rubbed at his chin. “Never thought about that. Don’t you shave?”

Zidane shook his head slowly, running his thumb over the edge of the cards. “Don’t have to. Never seem to grow much of any hair on my face.”

“Lucky bastard.”

He grinned. “I ain’t complaining. This face ain’t winning any ladies with a beard on it.” He gestured with the cards. “You coming downstairs?”

Irvine shook his head. “No, I think I’ll sit tonight out. If I go down there, I’m gonna wake up with a headache tomorrow, and I hate going to church with a headache.”

Zidane blinked and cocked his head to the side. “You’re going to church?”

“Yeah, your sister asked me to.”

Zidane stared at him for a minute, and then repeated slowly. “She asked you to.”

“That’s right.”

“She never does that. She only goes to church to give Seymour a hard time.”

“Seymour?”

“The preacher.”

“Oh, well, she asked me to go to church tomorrow. Not necessarily to go with her, mind you. Just to go.”

Zidane’s mouth worked for a moment as though he were chewing on his tongue. “You’re not trying to do anything improper with my sister, are you?”

Irvine smiled. “No more than I do with any other woman I meet.”

The blond squinted suspiciously at him, and as he did Irvine realized just how uncannily similar a resemblance he bore to his sister. They practically had the same face, especially with that expression plastered onto it.

“Don’t mess with my sister, cowboy. You won’t like what you find underneath that petticoat and pretty smile.”

“I think that’s up for me to decide.”

Zidane sighed and turned away. “Suit yourself.”

“She used to be with that Seifer fella, didn’t she?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. She was, until he ran off about two years ago and joined the Palazzo gang. Broke her damned heart. And every time she starts to get back to normal, he comes sauntering back into town and messing her up again.”

“The Palazzo gang?”

“Yeah, they’ve got a wanted poster at the sheriff’s office. Four thousand a head, dead or alive.” Zidane looked back at him and frowned. “I suppose if you wanted to get on her good side you could do everyone a favor and just shoot him.”

“Now, Zidane--”

“Just don’t bother with her, alright? There’s plenty of pretty girls here in town who aren’t anywhere near as messed up as my sister is.”

“I’m going to tell her you said that.”

Zidane sighed and shook his head. “If you change your mind, we’ll be downstairs.” He waved a hand and headed off to the stairs. Irvine watched him go, not sure what to think. It was admirable of a man to be protective of his sister, but Kuja didn’t strike Irvine as the sort of woman who needed protecting.

He went back into his room and finished cleaning up. Then he retrieved his journal and pencil and went out onto the porch. He sat in the warm afternoon sun. It was hot and dry, with few clouds to give any hope of rain. He opened his journal and turned to the first empty page.

‘July 15th, Saturday. Bought new shirt, pants, socks. Ankle is on the mend, wish there weren’t so many damned stairs in this place...’

 

_End Chapter 3_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woe be to any female that passes by a table occupied by Zidane, Irvine, Balthier, and Ardyn. They might get sucked into that black hole of charm..
> 
> There is, in fact, a tune that goes with Irvine's chocobo song. I made it up while coming up with the lyrics. Oops.


	4. Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains naughty bits.

Chapter 4: Sin

The sky was still dark on Sunday morning when Irvine awoke. He lay in bed for a few minutes, trying to remember the last time that he had gotten up on purpose to go to church. It had to have been years, perhaps since before he had become a cowboy. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith, it was just that his job usually kept him away from wherever a proper church might be. While on a drive, when Sunday rolled around he might say a few of the prayers he had learned as a boy, but that was about it. If he was at a camp with other cowboys, and someone was reading from the Bible, then he would listen. But, actually get out of bed at the crack of dawn and go to church? No, he had still been back in California the last time that happened. So, why was he doing it now?

Because, he thought, because Kuja had asked him to.

He dwelt on this while combing out his long brown hair. If his mother knew that he was doing this, she would have laughed at him. She would have chided her little man for letting himself get too sweet on any one person. His mother had never been the romantic sort. She had sold her body to so many men, that it had left her unable to give her heart to anyone. His mother had never been cruel to him, but hers was always a jaded sort of motherly affection. Don’t let yourself get too entangled, her actions had always said. Getting too attached will just get you hurt. He supposed he had proved that himself when he left home a decade ago, not even old enough to grow stubble on his chin, and had left her to go to Texas. He still wrote home sometimes. Once in a great while she would even write back, and he would find a letter waiting for him when he returned to the Highwind ranch in Texas. Those were always perfunctory things: I’m still alive, I’m still fine, I hope you are doing well.

His mother would be wrong, though. It wasn’t as though he were infatuated with Kuja. At least, he didn’t think so. The saloon keeper was an interesting, beautiful woman, but that’s all she was. 

He wondered, as he pulled his hair back into a neat little ponytail, if perhaps his mother had raised him too well. Was he too much her son, even now, to let himself enjoy a woman for more than just her looks and her sex? He didn’t know. Perhaps he wanted to--maybe that was why he was up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

He put on his new shirt and trousers, then sat on the edge of his bed with his socks and boots. He looked at his ankle, which had lost most of its discoloration and swelling, but as he flexed his foot there was still a spasm of pain. He sighed and pulled on his socks. Then his picked up his boots and wiped them off. 

There was a knock on his door. “Mister Irvine! Are you awake? Miss Kuja said you were going to be coming to church with us this morning!” 

He set his boots down and limped over to the door. Opening it revealed Miss Quistis, looking probably a little too prettied up for church.

“I’m up, Miss Quistis.” He tilted his head. “Are you really going dressed like that?”

She smiled. “Of course! My momma used to say that you should always look your best when you’re in God’s house.”

“Well, I’m sure God won’t be the only one appreciating the effort.”

“We’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Did you want me to tell Miss Kuja to wait for you?”

“She can wait if she wants to. I’ll catch up, otherwise.”

“Okay!” Quistis smiled and hurried off down the hall. Irvine shook his head and returned to his bed. Once he had his boots on--the right one was still giving him a little trouble--and had finished making himself as otherwise presentable as possible, he made his way downstairs into the saloon. Zidane was there, having his collar fussed at by his sister. Kuja was in one of her usual calico dresses, bustle and high collar and all the usual, though this was a dark black on gray pinstripe Irvine had not seen before.

“I’m here,” he called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Hope I didn’t keep you all waiting too long.”

“We weren’t waiting,” Kuja said, half turning to look at Irvine.

“We were waiting,” Zidane said.

“On Quistis to get her Bible,” Kuja said.

“All the same. I’m here.”

Kuja moved away from her brother and squinted up at the cowboy. “Well, you clean up nicely enough.”

He eyed her dress. “Don’t you ever dress down?”

She smiled primly. “Not if I can manage it.”

“Sorry!” Quistis appeared, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached the ground level and nearly crashed into Irvine. Her cheeks were nearly as pink as her dress. “I swear, that thing just up and hides itself every week!”

“Don’t swear on a Sunday,” Kuja said. Quistis giggled.

“Sorry, Miss Kuja.”

They made their way out into the morning. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting blues and pinks on the townsfolk as they made their way down the side street. Quistis darted off to say hello to a friend, leaving Irvine following the saloon keeper and her brother.

“Don’t usually see so many people in a rush to go to church, unless they’ve done something wrong,” Irvine said under his breath. Zidane laughed, and Kuja shot the both of them a withering look.

“We’ve all done something wrong,” she said.

“Oi, hey, Kinneas!” A voice called out behind him, and Irvine turned to seek out its source. A stocky man with blond hair and an unlit cigarette clenched firmly between his teeth was waving at him.

“You’d better catch up,” Kuja said.

“I will, I will,” Irvine said, and made his way over to the man. “Hey there, old man, didn’t think I’d see you here in town.” He shook the man’s hand.

“You keep calling me old and I’ll break your goddamned nose,” the man said.

“I’m probably twentieth in line for a nose breaking then, Cid.” The man grunted. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Shera wanted to go to church. You know, women and their social business.”

“You going?”

“Hell no, Seymour gives me hives. I’d rather take my chances with the devil.” He shook his head. “I thought you would’ve gone back to Texas by now.”

“I will soon. Thought I’d rest a bit. I busted up my ankle on the last ride.”

“Well, when you do head back, stop by the ranch. Got a few things I need sent back to Richard.”

“I’m not a courier.”

“I’ll pay you extra for it, don’t be such a goddamn crybaby about it.”

“It’s probably better that you don’t go into church, Cid,” Irvine said with a laugh. “I don’t think you’ve got enough coin to tithe for your mouth.”

“If God cared about my language he would’ve struck me dead by now.” He squinted at Irvine, tongue shifting the cigarette to the other side of his mouth. “Are you going to church, kid?”

“I was headed that way.”

“Is your horse sick?”

Irvine shook his head. “No, they were fine yesterday.”

“Then you must be chasing an awfully fine piece of tail,” the rancher said with a grin. Irvine scuffed his boot heel in the dirt and laughed.

“I might be, I ain’t sure yet.”

Cid fidgeted the front of his blue woolen jacket and looked down to the end of the street opposite of the church. “Well, I won’t be keepin’ you from your business.”

“What are you going to be doing, if you aren’t in church?”

“The undertaker.” Cid cleared his throat and removed the cigarette from his mouth. He tucked it behind his ear. “Gonna go sit a spell with the undertaker. Old friend.”

Irvine seemed to recall Fred Highwind having said something about that earlier, and nodded. “Alright. Good seeing you, Cid. I’ll stop by the ranch on my way south.”

“See you later, kid.”

The street had nearly emptied out now, and Irvine hurried on to the church. It was crowded, but he spotted the back of Kuja’s head a few rows of pews down. Zidane waved at him, but the young man’s attention was diverted elsewhere. Irvine studied the crowd as he excused his way down the line. There was a man standing near the pulpit. He had neatly groomed dark blue hair and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose, and was wearing a solid black suit. Irvine supposed that this was the priest.

“Sorry, I had to say hello to someone,” Irvine said.

“That’s just fine,” Zidane said. He looked over the cowboy’s shoulder and grinned. “Oh, there she is.” Zidane patted Irvine’s shoulder. “You can take my seat, I’ll see you after the service.” Zidane slipped past him and hurried off to sit next to the pretty woman Irvine had seen working at the general store a few times. Irvine shrugged and sat next to Kuja on the bench. They were near the end of the row. Irvine turned to greet Kuja, but stopped when he noticed that she was doing her best to quash a look of fury from her pretty features. He looked up to see what was causing her to be so upset.

A tall, gracefully built man with neatly groomed blond hair had stopped at the end of the pew where Quistis was seated next to Kuja. He was dressed in gray and white and looked immaculately clean compared to most of the rest of the congregation. Two men who looked like thugs were standing behind him. The blond man had taken Quistis’s hand and was pressing a kiss to the back of it, as though he were in some old foreign court.

“Why, Miss Quistis, you are looking lovely this morning,” the man said. “You are always a ray of sunshine here in church.”

The girl giggled. “Thank you, Mr. Palamecia.”

The man’s eyes flicked over a seat as he released the girl’s hand. “And you, Miss Kuja, looking charming as ever.”

Kuja plastered what Irvine knew well enough to tell was a fake, grimacing smile on her face as she looked up at the man. “You look well, Mateus.”

“I cannot complain. Ladies, excuse me.” He gave a little half bow and continued up to the front of the church. He went all the way to the front, where the blue-haired priest was waiting for everyone to be seated. Next to him, Kuja grumbled under her breath.

“Are you alright?”

She blinked and looked up at him, and then next to him. “Where’s Zidane?” She sighed. “Ruby must be here.”

“I think that’s where he went, yes.”

She muttered under her breath. “ _Mon Dieu_ , sometimes I don’t know why I...”

“Hey,” Irvine said, and leaned toward her. “If wanting to sit next to a pretty lady while in church is a bad thing, then I’m going to have to switch seats and go sit next to Baku.”

She swatted his arm lightly with her fan. “Don’t you even start.”

“Yes, ma-Miss Kuja.”

 

If he had been pressed about the subject of that day’s sermon, Irvine would have had to admit that he didn’t really pay much attention to the preacher’s words. He spent most of his time observing the other people in the little church, taking note of who was there, who he didn’t know, what people were doing. He was also acutely aware of Kuja sitting at his side, quiet, fanning her face, Bible open in her lap. 

There were a variety of people here in the town church this morning. Some were men Irvine recognized from the saloon, men who came into town from the local ranches. There was also the sheriff, sitting in the back next to his wife and a tiny little girl with her brunette hair in braids. The sheriff had a grim expression on his face. His nose was swollen, and there was an ugly red mark scabbing across his nose. His wife was doing her best to keep the little girl from making a fuss. Elsewhere he saw Cid’s wife, Shera, sitting next to a woman Irvine only faintly remembered being introduced to ages ago as her sister. There was also Mama Ulti, sitting with a few of her girls and looking far more presentable than he had seen them previously. Mateus Palamecia was seated up in the front pew, expression nearly serene and difficult to read, his thugs standing off to the side and looking bored and imposing.

He was only drawn back to some level of attention when a hand lightly touched his right knee. It was Kuja’s hand, or rather three of her lace-covered fingertips pressing lightly against the fabric of his trousers. He looked at her, but she was staring straight ahead, somewhere at the wall behind the priest. She did not move her hand, and Irvine found it impossible to focus on anything but those three fingers.

When it was over, he quietly followed Kuja and Quistis back outside into the bright morning sunlight. He squinted, shading his eyes with his hand and wishing he’d brought his hat. Quistis excused herself and scrambled off to have lunch with the family of a friend, and Zidane was similarly missing. Irvine stood next to Kuja, who was fanning herself while watching Quistis hurry away. When they were fully alone, she looked up at him.

“So, what did you think of the sermon?”

Irvine did not want to admit that he had barely been listening. His brain scrambled to remember anything he had heard the priest say. “The preacher really likes to talk about sin.”

She smiled. “It does seem like that sometimes, yes.” Kuja tilted her head down, fidgeting the fan in her hands. “I wanted to thank you. For keeping your word. I know you weren’t really paying all that much attention, but I’m still glad you were there.”

“I said I would.”

“I know. I just...” She shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like a hypocrite in there.” She started to walk slowly down the street, and he followed.

“Why is that?”

She opened and closed the fan a few times. “People have a lot of reasons for going out West. Some just want a second chance. Some want to get away from their past.”

He wasn’t sure what she was alluding to, and knew it improper to pry. That was a rule among cowboys, after all--you didn’t pry into someone’s past. Kuja was no cowboy, of course, but he thought he could leverage her the same amount of respect.

“I didn’t go west,” he said. “I went east, actually. South-east.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm. I was born in California, in one of those little gold rush towns.”

“I didn’t think there were many women in those towns, except for--oh. My apologies.”

Irvine shrugged. “We don’t get to choose our parents.”

“No, we don’t. That’s true.” 

They arrived back at the saloon. Kuja stopped and set her fan on the porch railing. “Well.” She looked up at him through her dark eyelashes. “If you don’t object, I believe I’m ready to go on that walk with you, now.”

He blinked and smiled. “Oh yeah? Don’t you have to be getting back to the saloon?”

“No. It’s Sunday. Nothing to do until lunch.”

“Oh, right. I guess it is.” He fanned his face with his hand. “Well, I was planning on going to check on my horses, but I think that could wait until this afternoon.” He looked down at her. “Where would you like to walk to?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps just around the town’s perimeter? I mean, your foot is still on the mend.”

Irvine nodded. “That’s a fine start, Miss Kuja.” 

They walked side by side, quiet as they made their way down the main street. Irvine just smiled and nodded politely as they passed people that Kuja stopped and greeted by name. She said nothing directly to him until they reached the edge of town, where the well worn dirt road faded off into a less worn path amongst the dirt and grass. Kuja brushed a stray curl of hair from her eyes and squinted up at him.

“You know, you’re different from most of the men I’ve met,” she said. “Most of the ones out here, at least.”

“Oh?” He habitually scanned the grass from snakes as he followed her along the edge of town. “Is that a good thing?”

“It might be for you,” she said coyly. “I don’t know about for me.” She clasped her hands together and looked down at them as they strolled along. “You... I’m not sure why, but meeting you has stirred something up in me that I didn’t think was there.”

They stopped, standing in the shade of an old outlying building. They were far enough from the main bulk of the town that only a few louder voices reached them on the morning breeze.

“When you first came in on Tuesday, I was rude to you,” she said. He thought she almost seemed to be talking to herself, rather than him. “I was rude to you, like I am to every dumb cowboy that comes through my front door. I was, and you... Irvine Kinneas, you were polite to me. You didn’t snap at me and demand my full attention. You were as much a gentleman as I could hope to find out here.”

He thought of how standoffish and dismissive Kuja had been when he first came into the saloon. “You were like that on purpose.”

She nodded, still focused on her hands. “It’s usually the easiest way to cut any attempted fraternization off at the start. Men come in to get a room for a few nights, and they think they’ll just slip right into my bedroom. Like I’m so lonely out here I’ll sleep with any man that asks for it.”

He frowned. “I’m not like that.”

“I know. I know that now. But, with that handsome face and that charming smile you brandish like a weapon, how was I to know the difference?”

She had a way with words that left him feeling uncertain if he’d been insulted or not. “And now? It’s not even been a week; what’s changed?”

Kuja sighed and picked at a loose thread on the cuff of one of her gloves. “I don’t know exactly how to put it into words. I think you are what you appear to be on the surface--just another charming cowboy. But you’re also... kind.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. “And I guess I find that more attractive than I thought I did.”

He tentatively reached out and touched her cheek. A soft sigh escaped her, and her head tipped slightly to press into the touch. 

“I don’t want to let myself get to be too fond of you, Irvine,” she said. “I mean, you’re a cowboy.”

“So?”

“So, you don’t live in any one place, do you? You won’t be staying here in town forever. You’ll leave and go back to your cattle and your chocobos, and this will just be a memory of something you did to pass the time after a drive.”

“That’s a miserably stark way of thinking, Miss Kuja.”

“I suppose it is. But, I know it’s the truth.” She looked up. “And so, I just can’t. I shouldn’t even let myself think of you as a friend.”

“So you’re just saying I should stop now. Before I force you into something you’ll regret.”

“You can’t force me into anything, cowboy.”

He leaned in a bit. “I’m not sure I would agree with that, even if I’ve never been the sort to force a lady into anything.”

She huffed softly. “You men are all the same. Always so full of yourselves.”

“The fact that you seem bent on not being my friend tells me that you’d like to be.”

“Definitely full of yourselves,” she said. “You may be handsome and kind, but you’re just another--”

He leaned in the rest of the way, pressing his mouth to hers. It was the only thing he could think to do to quiet her unhappy tirade. For a moment it seemed like she was kissing him back, but then she pressed a firm hand on his chest and pushed him away.

“You see, that’s what I’m talking about. You think just because you’re a man that you can take what you want from me.”

“There’s nothing holding you back from taking what you want, Kuja.”

She stared up at him. “You don’t know what I want.”

“Surprise me.”

Her jaw worked for a moment. “Fine.” Her left hand whipped out and pressed firmly against his chest again, and shoved him against the exterior wall of the old building they had been loitering beside. She was nearly glaring at him as she did so. There was something resolute in her beautiful blue eyes that immediately caused a reaction elsewhere in his body. He watched, motionless with surprise and curiosity, as she lifted her right hand to her mouth. Kuja caught the forefinger of her right glove between her teeth and tugged the little garment free. She leaned in closer to him, almost close enough for their bodies to touch. Her right hand touched lightly at his stomach, and then moved lower. Irvine could do little more than just stare at her lovely, grimly determined face as her fingers nimbly released the fastener on his trousers. It wasn’t as though he was at all inclined to stop her hand. Kuja rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his. He surrendered to the kiss immediately, gasping softly into her mouth as her fingers found and claimed his cock. He was already half-hard in anticipation of what she was up to, and that went to no waste as her fingers began to stroke at his length.

“Ah--Kuja!”

“Shh.” She kissed him again, left hand still gripping the discarded glove as it pressed his shoulder against the wall. “You want this, right?”

“Someone might--ah--walk by and notice us.” He was quickly losing enough coherency to protest. His brain had decided that the possibility of getting caught was far less interesting than the fact that the standoffish saloon keeper hand her hand down his pants and on his cock.

“Then we’d better not make too much noise,” she said. He nodded in agreement. She moved her lips to his jaw, pressing kisses at the faint stubble there, and down the line of his jaw to his ear. He tilted his head to the side as she kissed down to his throat, her hand still carefully stroking at his member. His hands ached from where they were planted, half gripping the wall. He wanted to touch her, but did not want to scare her off. So he remained in place, submitting himself to her whims.

“I’m more than just some woman, here to please you and bear you children,” she said against his throat. He blinked.

“What?”

“I’m not--I can’t do that, Irvine. I’m sorry.”

“Darling, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said. He let out a little groan as her fingers squeezed at him. “Though, I would appreciate if you didn’t stop doing that just yet.”

Her lips moved wordlessly against his throat. Then she murmured: “I can take care of myself. I don’t need you for anything.”

“I could, uh, return the favor?”

“No.” She kissed at the lump of his Adam’s apple. “I just can’t be the woman you want me to be, Irvine.”

“Kuja, I--” He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting the pleasure to be over, but his body was quickly reaching the point where it had had just enough. “Ah, fuck!”

She kissed him as he came to smother his groan of pleasure. When the moment had passed, she leaned away and pulled her hand free. He fumbled in his pockets and found his handkerchief.

“H-here.”

She was wordless as she wiped her fingers clean and put her glove back on. Then: “I’ll return this after the wash.”

“Alright.”

She did not move away from him. When he had caught his breath, he reached out and touched one of her bright red cheeks. 

“Kuja I... I barely know you well enough to make any kind of judgments about you. I’m not the kind of fellow who... well...”

She nodded, silent.

“When I came here on Tuesday, this is not what I was expecting. You’re a beautiful woman, but I didn’t--I’m not...” He sighed. “I’m an idiot, in case you hadn’t realized.”

She smiled slightly. “I don’t think you’re an idiot, cowboy.”

“I would ask if we could just start over, but you’ve already put your hand down my trousers and that’s kind of a big step to go back on.”

Kuja smothered a soft laugh with her left hand and shook her head. After a moment she lowered her hand. “Almost every unattached man who comes into this town tries to make his way with me. You’ll have to forgive me for assuming that you’re just like the rest.”

“That’s understandable, I guess,” Irvine said. He sighed and made his trousers more presentable. “Thank you, by the way.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she said.

“Kuja!”

She smiled up at him. “Irvine, I think I might... I might not mind getting to know you better, while you’re in town.” She swallowed. “Just, maybe not so much that I’ll pine for you while you’re away.”

“I suppose that’s a place to start.” He tipped his face down and kissed her.

She returned the kiss.

Then she squeezed his shoulder and whispered: “We should head back.”

“Already?”

“I need to get back to the hotel to make lunch. People will start to wonder where I am.”

He knew she was right. He wished she wasn’t. “Do you think that perhaps we might be able to go for a walk again some time?”

Kuja chuckled softly and patted his shoulder. “Yes, I suppose we might.”

 

His encounter with Kuja that morning had awoken his mind to new possibilities that he had only been passively considering before. He passively considered those sort of things with plenty of women, after all, and Kuja had been no different in that respect. But now, things were different. She had been the one to make an advancement on him. Hell, she had touched him, with barely any provocation on his part. He was still surprised by this, but in no way adverse to it. The rest of the day she had gone back to her usual, slightly standoffish behavior, but the memory of what had happened lingered in the animal part of his brain.

And so, that night, he laid on his bed, cock in hand, stroking it slowly while remembering what had happened, and thinking about what might happen in the future. Kuja was a beautiful woman, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like under all the laced to the top dresses that she was always wearing. He knew women wore a lot under their clothes--corsets and layers of fabric and other things to alter their appearance--but he was still quite certain that Kuja was probably beautiful without all the extras added on. He teased his thumb over the head of his cock, imagining her on her back, wanting him. Her long silver violet hair unbound and a mess on the pillow, cheeks flushed, breasts bare and soft and inviting, pink nipples hardened into little peaks in anticipation of his touches. The smooth plane of her belly trembling slightly with desire. He long legs parted, wanting him, ready for him, her sex wet and just waiting for him to fill her.

He wondered if she would let him take the lead, or if she would try to dominate the situation as she had before. His cock twitched in his hand. In his imagination she was more pliant than she likely would be in reality. Mewling his name softly as he slid into her, legs hooking along his sides, feet trying to meet along his back to draw him in deeper. She gasped and groaned as he fucked her, radiant with her desire for him. The bed frame creaked under their motions, until finally he came, spilling himself deep inside her.

When he opened his eyes, his hand was wet and sticky. He sighed softly. No, imagination was definitely preferable to laying here alone in bed jerking off.

As he cleaned himself up, Irvine considered his options, and decided he should extend his stay in town for another week. His ankle was still not completely mended, after all, so there was no rush to leave just yet. And now, perhaps he might have better motivation to linger than he had previously intended.

 

_End Chapter 4_


	5. The Emperor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also has a bit of naughtiness in it. Oh my~

Chapter 5: The Emperor

The next few days in Devil’s Ambition were uneventful for the cowboy. He spent his days lounging about, occasionally helping Miss Kuja with some chore in a subtle attempt to continue to ingratiate himself to her, sometimes listening to her lecture about different types of alcohols and how they were made and where they were from. Once or twice, in the middle of the afternoon when it was otherwise quiet he would hear her playing the piano and sit at the foot of the stairs to listen. Sometimes he would chat with the hotel’s other patrons, or sit out on the front porch and listen to the town drunk as he twisted his long silver hair in his hands and told stories about fighting in the Civil War. Then there was Miss Quistis, who was apparently a learned little thing that liked to pull a tome from her modest collection and read a passage to whomever would listen. She was presently working her way through a borrowed copy of some novel by one Charles Dickens, though she would often stop to ponder what it would be like to travel to Europe. The girl had a pleasant enough voice, though, so Irvine did not entirely mind spending an hour listening to her mull through the content.

He tried to take his horses out for a ride every day or two, so that they wouldn’t get lazy. On Thursday afternoon, two days after he had been in town for a week, Irvine returned from the stables and took a short nap. When he awoke, he heard voices drifting up from the saloon below. There were two people speaking, one a man whose voice Irvine could not place, and the other more easily identifiable as that of Miss Kuja. There was something strained in her tone that made him curious. He crept down the hall and stood at the stop of the staircase, listening.

“Please, I just--it was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“I’m sure that is all it was, Kuja, but I can’t see the point of helping him out if he’s just going to get himself into trouble again.” Irvine continued trying to place the voice of the man. It was imperious and a touch snide--the priest, perhaps? No, his voice, what little the cowboy could recall of it, had a more ephemeral and nasal quality.

“He won’t, I swear. I’ll talk to him.”

“I don’t know.” There was the sound of heavy shoe heels clacking along the wooden floor. “You’re asking for quite the favor, my dear, and I know you won’t offer anything of interest yourself in return.”  
There was tension in her tone. “Then, what would you ask of me in return?”

The man made a thoughtful noise, and the clacking of his heels continued as he paced. Irvine, unable to stay his curiosity any longer, started down the stairs. He attempted to make as much noise as possible, which was somewhat difficult in sock feet.

“Well, hello there Miss Kuja, I was just wondering--” He stopped at the foot of the stairs, making a show of noticing that Kuja was not alone in the saloon. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize you were busy.”

Both Kuja and the man--Mateus Palamecia, the mayor of Devil’s Ambition--turned to look at Irvine. Kuja’s expression was complicated, still visibly tense but also obviously relieved for the respite of a distraction. The mayor’s expression was carefully impassive.

“Hello, Irvine. How were your horses?”

He grinned at her. “Still have all their hooves.”

“That’s good.” She gestured a gloved hand at the other man. “I was just speaking with Mr. Palamecia here about a bit of business. Did you need something?”

Irvine looked at the tall blond man, who was squinting at him slightly, and then back to Kuja. “Well, no, nothing horribly pressing. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Oh, well then.” She smoothed her hands over her hips, retreating behind the counter of the bar. “We’ll be done in a few minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.” She retrieved a glass bottle of sarsaparilla from behind the bar and uncorked it.

“I don’t mind. No rush.”

She poured the contents of the bottle into a small glass and set it on the counter. Irvine heard the bottle rattle slightly as she set it back amongst the others. He leaned against the bar and took the proferred glass, watching her swallow and return to where she had been previously standing. Irvine ignored the slight bitterness of the drink as he tilted his head to watch the proceedings, admittedly still having no idea what he had walked in on.

To his credit, Mateus Palamecia gave no hint of being annoyed by the interruption. Perhaps Irvine had given both of them a chance to stall. The mayor’s dark eyes were switching their target from Irvine and back to Kuja, but otherwise his blank face gave no indication of what was happening in his head.

“New gentleman caller of yours, Miss Kuja?”

“No. No, just a guest upstairs.” Her hands flexed at her sides, briefly balling before she flattened them along her hips. “Mr. Kinneas is just between drives. He works for one of the local chocobo ranches.”

“Chocobo ranches?” A frown cracked the mayor’s mask.

“The Highwinds,” she said quickly.

“Oh. I see.” Mateus shifted his attention back to the saloon keeper. “That’s fine, then.”

“Any issue with them?” she asked.

“No, the Highwinds are all up to date on their... accounts.” He scratched at his nose. “Now, back to the matter of your request.”

“Yes,” she said. 

“I do believe there is something you can do for me that will make equal with the price of your favor.”

“Name it.”

“Miss Quistis.” He smiled thinly as Kuja audibly balked. “Or rather, I would like you to permit her to be in my attendance for supper tonight.”

“How dare you!” she said in a low, angry, breathy voice. The mayor remained unfazed.

“She is still your ward, yes? Then you are the one to give permission for my request.” He arched a brow. “That is all I’m asking, Miss Kuja. Surely you can agree to such a simple thing.”

Kuja gave a soft, throaty huff. “Why Quistis?”

“Why Quistis and not you?” He chuckled. “You know full well why, Kuja. Now, do we have a deal?”

Irvine sipped his drink, watching her hands. She kept balling them into brief fists, and he wondered if she might lose her temper and hit the mayor. He hoped not, because he would hate to see her get hauled off by the surly, freshly scarred sheriff. He set his glass back down on the counter top, and its softly resounding clack caused Kuja to jerk in place. She looked at him, blinking as though she had forgotten about him. He smiled at her. Kuja swallowed and looked again to the mayor.

“I’ll agree, on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“She may visit you for supper, but she has to have an escort.” Kuja pointed at Irvine. “I would approve of Mr. Kinneas escorting her.”

“You don’t trust me?” Mateus sounded amused.

“Of course I don’t. I’ve known you long enough not to do something silly like that.” Kuja lowered her hand to her side. “However, I believe that Mr. Kinneas will be trustworthy enough.”

Mateus squinted at him for a moment, and then said: “Fine. Supper will be at seven in the evening today. I do hope that Miss Quistis and her escort will be timely.”

“They will.”

“Excellent.” He smirked. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Kuja. Mr. Kinneas, I look forward to seeing you later.”

Irvine nodded.

They were silent as the mayor departed the saloon. When the front door had clicked shut, Kuja heaved a sigh and rushed over to the bar in a rustle of skirts. She touched his arm.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have volunteered you for that.”

“I’m not one to argue about a free meal,” Irvine said. “But, Kuja, what exactly is going on?”

“It’s Zidane,” she said.

“Zidane?” He glanced out at the empty tables. “Where is he, anyways?”

“Locked up in jail,” Kuja said. “Last night, after you’d already gone upstairs, he went out and got himself into a drunken brawl with another fellow, over that girl at the general store.” She shook her head. “The sheriff said he can rot in there until he’s dead. Or until he repents for his behavior, whichever comes first.”

“What does the mayor have to do with it?”

“He’s the emperor. His word has ultimate sway over most people in town, especially over Sheriff Leonhart, since he pays him directly.”

“So you asked him to have your brother released.”

She nodded. “He just broke the guy’s arm. It’s not like he stabbed him or something.”

“What if Quistis doesn’t want to go?”

“Oh, she’ll go. She’ll probably be ecstatic to have something to one up her little friends.” Kuja looked up at him again. “Thank you. For doing this. I mean--”

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you will.”

“And then I’m going to lock Zidane in his room for the next month or so. That should be enough, I think.”

He reached and touched a hand to Kuja’s cheek. “You’re shakin’ a little.”

“I know. I’m upset.” She made a frustrated noise. “I shouldn’t have to do this, just for him.”

“He’s your brother. You love him, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Irvine smiled. “I don’t have any siblings of my own, but I would like to think that if I had a stupid, impetuous little brother, then I would do something to keep him from rotting in jail, too.” He brushed his fingers along a loose curl of hair. “And you’re a good woman, so that’s why you’re doing it.”

She closed her eyes. “Thank you for that vote of confidence.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I think I might like to have supper with just you some time.”

Kuja made a flustered noise. “One thing at a time, cowboy.”

 

“And I want you to behave, and mind your manners. Don’t say anything inappropriate.”

“Of course, Miss Kuja.”

“And don’t let him do or say anything inappropriate.”

Quistis fidgeted. “It’s just supper, Miss Kuja.” She gestured off to her left. “Besides, Mister Irvine will be there watching out for me.”

Kuja sighed. “I know.” She looked at Irvine. “You watch yourself, too, cowboy. You don’t need to give him any cause to hold something against you.”

Irvine didn’t want to say that the mayor always seemed like a placid, if not cold man, whenever he had seen him. “I will be on my best behavior, Miss Kuja.”

“Good. Don’t stay out too late. You still have to help at the saloon tonight, Quistis.”

“Yes, Miss Kuja.”

They went off into the evening. As Irvine closed the door behind them, he noticed the priest making his way down the middle of the street. At his side was what Irvine first thought was a large dog, but as they approached he realized it was in fact a massive black wolf, kept in place only by a thin leather cord. The priest paused to look at the pair.

“Good evening, Miss Quistis. Where are you headed off to so late?”

“I’ve been invited to supper at the mayor’s house, preacher.”

“Ah, I see.” The priest smiled faintly. “Have a good time.” He nodded at Irvine, and then continued down the dusty street.

“Was that a wolf he had with him?” Irvine asked when the priest was hopefully out of earshot.

“Yes, its name is Faolan. They say it’s a demon he subdued out in the wild, but I think it’s really just a wolf he raised from a puppy.” She gave Irvine a gleefully conspiratorial look. “Though, they say that if you misbehave too much, then Faolan will come and eat your soul.”

“I hope the priest isn’t on his way to visit Zidane in jail, then,” Irvine murmured. Quistis giggled.

They crossed the street to the front door of the mayor’s home. There was a man with a rifle standing guard at the front door. He looked, at passing glance, like one of the local native indians, but the hair plaited into two braids was a strange silvery-white color instead of black. The man was stoic, and stared at them with eyes colored as though they were made with gold taken from the nearby hills. Irvine found the man’s presence sufficiently unnerving, but Quistis nearly bounded up the steps to where he stood.

“Good evening, Mr. Ansem. We were invited to supper tonight, if you could please let Mr. Palamecia know we were here?”

The guard stared at Irvine for a long moment before shifting his gaze back to Quistis. “The mayor has been expecting you.” 

The pair was admitted and guided from the foyer, through the sitting room, and finally into the small dining room. Considering the general size of the place, Irvine had been expecting something larger, but as they entered the room Irvine realized that, aside from various servants and guards, the mayor most likely lived alone. One wall of the dining room was dominated by a fireplace that was quietly crackling away, despite and doing nothing for the general heat of the day. The mayor was seated at the table, a large leather bound book open in front of him and a half consumed glass of wine at his right hand.

“Mr. Palamecia, your guests have arrived.”

“Ah, so they have.” Mateus got to his feet, pulling out his pocket watch and consulting its face before snapping it shut. “And just on time, as well. Very nice.” He closed the book and removed a delicate pair of reading glasses from his nose, and handed them both off to a servant that had entered the room. “Miss Quistis, Mr. Kinneas, so good of you both to join me tonight for supper.”

“Thank you for inviting us, sir,” Quistis said. She made a cute little attempt at a curtsey, and giggled as the mayor moved around the table and pulled out a chair for her.

“Please, be seated.”

Irvine sat in a chair, and Quistis sat in the withdrawn seat on the other side of the table. Her cheeks were red, and it seemed to Irvine that she was doing her best not burst out laughing in her pretty, youthful excitement. He wondered if Kuja had ever let her out on a private liaison like this before. He knew that she was allowed to spend time with her female friends, but perhaps Kuja was too over-protective of the girl to allow her to be courted.

The meal itself was a lavish affair, almost to the point of being excessive. Irvine wondered how a man who ate this much every day could maintain a physique as slender as that of the mayor. There was an amber soup and fried bread, sweetbread and cauliflower with a cream sauce on top, macaroni served with a creamy cheese sauce, little wafer crackers with little elegantly cut wafers of cheese, chocobo croquettes with boiled green peas, roasted pieces of lamb served on a bedding of spinach, and roasted corn still wrapped in its husks. Quistis picked her way delicately through everything, politely complimenting each dish as it was brought to the table. Irvine ate everything that was brought to him. The food was good, and he was not one to complain. Mateus spoke little during the meal itself, only pausing to sip his wine and inquire about his guests’ satisfaction. 

When the main meal was over, they sat eating berries in cream for dessert. The mayor stared into his recently refilled glass of wine for a solid minute before setting it down and looking to Quistis.

“So, tell me, Miss Quistis. What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“Spare time?” She blinked a few times, tilting her head to the side in thought. “You mean when I’m not helping out at the saloon?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Well, I suppose I like to read.” She smiled shyly. “The Bible, mostly, but sometimes I read other books when I can get them.”

“Miss Quistis has been doing a narration of one of Charles Dickens’ works,” Irvine offered.

“Is that so?”

Her cheeks pinked. “Yes, sir.”

"Hmm. Have you read ‘ _David Copperfield_ ’?”

She shook her head. “No, sir, I haven’t.”

Mateus smiled. “Well, I happen to have a copy of it in my study. I’ll loan it to you, and after you read it we can discuss what you thought of the story.”

Quistis smiled prettily at the older man. “Really?”

“Of course.”

Irvine’s gaze shifted between the two while they continued to converse. He supposed he was, on the behalf of Miss Kuja, trying to get a feel for whatever it was Mateus Palamecia was up to. Except, he didn’t entirely get the feeling that the man was in fact up to anything malicious. He wasn’t sure that Kuja would like that knowledge. Either Mateus was an exceptionally good actor and masking ulterior motives, or none existed. He still did not know what had transpired between Miss Kuja and the mayor in the past, but whatever bad blood Mateus might have harbored for her did not appear to extend to Miss Quistis. The pair chatted for some time, at first about book and then about Europe, until the sky outside had grown dark and the silver haired guard had started to doze off in the corner.

Eventually the mayor seemed to remember that Irvine was still sitting adjacent to him at the table. “Tell me, Mr. Kinneas, has everything been to your satisfaction tonight?”

Irvine swallowed the last of the plump strawberries that had been on his plate. “It’s all been very good, yes.” 

“I’m pleased to hear it. I would hope that you might let Miss Kuja know the same.”

“I’m sure she’ll ask,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Mateus said calmly. “I’m sure she will.”

After that the pair had to excuse themselves to return to the Desert Palace. Quistis had to help out at the saloon as usual, and Mateus was courteous and let her go without any sort of fuss. He stood next to Irvine in the blue-gray light of dusk, and they watched her make her way across the street, and back inside where the lights gleamed golden at the saloon. The mayor smoked a cigar, his eyes squinting slightly in the direction of the saloon. Irvine stood with his thumbs crooked in his pockets and looked at the darkening sky.

“So, Mr. Kinneas, tell me. You’ve been here a week or so. What do you think of my town?”

He scuffed his boot heel on the porch and rolled his shoulders slowly. “It’s quiet.” Across the way, he could hear the tinkling of the piano as the saloon door opened to admit a few more patrons. “I usually stop through Denver on my way back after a drive, so this has been different.”

“Good,” the mayor said. “I’ve put a lot of money into making this place presentable.”

Irvine made an agreeing noise, not sure what to say. He scratched at his chin, feeling the faint dusting of stubble there. 

“Pardon my curiosity,” Irvine said after clearing his throat. “But, why the interest in Miss Quistis? From what I understand, you’re old enough to be her father.”

Mateus Palamecia tipped his head to the side and stared at him for a long moment, and Irvine thought perhaps he was not going to get an answer. Then he slowly turned his head in the direction of Quistis’s departure.

“It’s true, yes. Quistis is probably the last woman I should get involved in.” 

“Then...”

The blond haired man looked back at him. “I just am. How about we leave it at that, alright?”

“Didn’t mean to intrude.”

The mayor grunted faintly. “I used to be friends with her father, though he was a few years older than I. We were business partners. I remember when we built this town. It was a bit more than a decade ago, now. Miss Quistis was just a little girl, then.” He removed the cigar from his mouth and sighed out a gray plume into the evening. “That was years ago, now.”

“Is her father...”

“Dead? No, though things might be better off if he was.”

“Miss Kuja doesn’t seem to like him.”

Mateus smirked. “She doesn’t like me, either.” He sighed. “No, she’s too much for anyone to handle.”

“I’ve found her pleasant enough.”

The mayor snorted. “You’ve clearly spent far too much time out alone on the prairie.”

Irvine smiled. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”

Somewhere in the big empty house behind them, a clock chimed the hour.

“Well, it was a pleasure,” Irvine said. “But I think I’m going to be heading across the street now.”

“As you will. If you ever find yourself looking for new employment, Mr. Kinneas, I can always use another reliable cowboy.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Oh, and Mr. Kinneas?”

“Yes?”

“You can tell Miss Kuja I’ll speak with the sheriff in the morning.”

He nodded. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear it.”

 

Irvine went into the saloon. Inside he found Ardyn at the table he and Zidane usually sat at. Balthier was not in town presently, and so the pink haired man looked a little lonely as he shuffled a deck of cards. Irvine sat across from him at the table, although admittedly he’d had so much to eat for supper that he was feeling slightly drowsy and not entirely inclined to knock back whatever rotgut was being ordered tonight. Ardyn smiled ruefully at him.

“Ah, there’s a friendly face. You want a drink?”

“A whiskey will be fine,” Irvine said.

“So, I saw Quistis return from the Emperor’s palace not long ago,” Ardyn said after calling for drinks. “Do I take it the rescue mission was successful?”

“How do you know about that?”

He shrugged. “Found out after inquiring to the lovely Miss Kuja about her brother’s whereabouts.”

“I’m surprised she told you.”

“I think she’s been partaking a bit of her business tonight, if you catch my meaning.” He jerked his stubbly chin toward the bar. Irvine looked. Kuja was standing at the bar’s end, as usual, but she looked more squinty and miserable than normal.

“Perhaps I should go talk to her.”

“No rush, my boy. Stay and play a hand with me, will you? If she wants to talk to you, she’ll come talk to you.”

“Wise words from the king of the whorehouse.”

“Yes, and don’t you forget it.”

Irvine downed one of the glasses of whiskey that was set in front of him. He slapped the table with his right hand.

“Alright, deal me in. Let me tell you about this damned stuffed buffalo head the mayor has over his fireplace...”

 

A few hours later, when the saloon had closed for the night and a moderately tipsy Irvine had made his way up to his rented room, he was only slightly surprised to hear a knock on his door. Kuja was standing there when he opened it, looking prim and proper as ever. Irvine smiled at her, but she only offered a pinched version of the look back at him.

“Oh, hey there, Miss Kuja.” He leaned in the doorframe and scratched idly at his scalp. “Busy night tonight, eh?”

“Can’t complain.” She pursed her lips. “I saw that Quistis came back to me in one piece, but she didn’t have anything to say other than he loaned her a book.”

“Yeah, something by Dickens.” He inspected the grit under his nails. “The mayor told me to tell you that he would speak with the sheriff in the morning.”

Kuja sighed softly. “That’s a relief.”

“I probably should’ve told you earlier, but I got distracted.”

“That’s alright. Thank you for telling me at all.” She smiled. “Were you heading to bed?”

“Roughly in that direction, yeah.”

“Well, before you went, I had something I wanted... I wanted you to have.” She held out a hand. “As a thank you.”

He made a curious noise as he looked at her palm. It was empty. “What?”

Kuja huffed a soft laugh and grabbed his hand. “Just, come with me.”

He locked his door and followed her. He followed her downstairs, and then behind the bar and through the little side door. Then through the kitchen, through another door, down a very short dark corridor, and then through a final doorway. This last door led into a small bedroom. It was warm and the smell of it immediately told Irvine where he was.

“I thought your bedroom was upstairs,” he said. She shook her head slightly.

“No, just Zidane and Quistis’s,” she said. “Mine is adjacent to the office.”

“Oh, I see.” Irvine glanced around the small room. There was a braided rag rug on the floor in blues and greens, and dark blue curtains covering the shuttered windows. A large bed took up a great deal of the room, covered in a sky blue quilt with several woolen blankets piled at its foot. There was a dressing table with a large mirror, and a bureau that was four drawers high. The whole room smelled of her, and the fact that he had come to recognize her smell startled him. However, there was no denying it--she smelled of a perfume made of roses and honeysuckle, but there was another, subtly ‘Kuja’ smell that Irvine could not quite place. He inhaled slowly, watching as she made her way over to another door that stood adjacent to an unlit fireplace.

“Come here,” she said, her tone unusually warm and gentle. He followed, peering over her shoulder and through the doorway. There was a small alcove of a room on the other side, and the lamp hanging on the wall showed a wash basin and another small mirror. There was also a short wooden bench positioned next to a copper bath tub. The tub was full of liquid, and the surface shimmered like gold in the lamplight.

He looked at the tub. “Is it full of acid or something?”

A smile caught at the corners of her mouth. “No, of course not. I just... wanted to thank you for what you did tonight.”

“You didn’t have to go to this length, but I won’t complain. Been ages since I had a proper bath that wasn’t just a dunk in a river.”

She waved a hand at the tub. “Well, enjoy yourself. I’ll leave you be. I’ll be in the kitchen. You can call if you need something.”

“You could stay and watch,” he said, making his tone as playfully coy as possible. 

She stared at him for a moment, and then crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay.”

He froze. He hadn’t really expected her to accept the offer. “Is there room in the tub for two?”

“Very funny.” She sat on the small bench next to the tub and carefully arranged her skirts. 

Irvine turned his back to her while he undressed. It wasn’t that he was shy or anything like that. But, Kuja was a lady, even if she was being so impudent as to sit in on his bath. 

“I’ve seen dicks before,” she said. “I’m not afraid of yours.”

“You certainly weren’t the other day,” he muttered under his breath.

When he was undressed down to everything but his whistle, and his clothes were in a fairly neat pile on the floor, he entered the small bathing room and stepped into the tub. The water was neither hot nor cold, more a simple warmness that reflected the evening’s temperature. He sank into the water with a sigh, drawing his feet in enough so that he could lean against the side of the tub comfortably. He closed his eyes, enjoying the immersion, and was surprised after a moment to feel a bare hand touch lightly against his forehead, and then feather up into his hair.

“Why do you always wear gloves?” he asked.

“I don’t like my hands,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair.

“They seem fine enough to me.”

“Just an insecurity, I guess.” She withdrew her hand and leaned away.

He dunked his head into the water, wetting his hair and scrubbing his fingers at his scalp. The water was a welcome relief after the heat of the summer day. When he surfaced, he found that Kuja was watching him, hands folded primly in her lap. He smiled at her and leaned back against the side of the tub. Her cheeks pinked, and she turned her face away.

“So, tell me.”

“Hm?”

“What happened, with Mateus.”

“Oh.” He supposed it was inevitable that Kuja would inquire to him on what had happened during Miss Quistis’s date with the mayor. He wasn’t entirely sure it was really all her business, but since Quistis did seem to be her ward... “He didn’t do anything untoward, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I didn’t think he would. Certainly not with you there.”

“Then, why are you asking me? You could go ask Quistis. I’m sure she’d love to tell you.”

“Perhaps I will later.” She set a rag and a lump of soap on the edge of the tub, and he took them without question.

“It was good food,” he said as he started to scrub himself. “You probably would have liked it.”

“I have a delicate stomach around people I don’t like.”

“Hmm. Did he break your heart, too?”

“Mateus? Gracious, no. I never gave him the chance, though he certainly tried to get one.”

“Then, why do you dislike him?”

Kuja frowned. She got up and went to the little wash basin, and looked at her reflection in the mirror there. Irvine paused in his scrubbing to watch as she removed the pins from her hair, letting it out of the neat bun it had been in. Her hair tumbled down her back, reminding him of one of the waterfalls he had seen many years before while traveling through the mountains.

“You should let me draw you some time,” he said. She looked over her shoulder at him, and he was briefly mesmerized by the sheen of a lock of hair as it twisted against her fair cheek.

“Are you an artist, now? I thought you were a singing cowboy.”

He smiled and winked at her. “I’m a man of many talents.”

She glanced down. “So I can see.”

He splashed at the surface of the water. “A proper woman ain’t supposed to be looking at that kind of talents.”

Kuja smirked. “I thought by now you would have realized that I wasn’t a proper woman.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to say it.” He continued scrubbing, still idly watching her run a comb through her hair. “Your hair is beautiful. I’ve never seen that color in person before.”

“My grandmother had the same hair color,” Kuja said. “Or, so I’m told. She was dead before I ever met her.”

“It’s still beautiful.”

She was quiet, half turned to look down at him while she worked on her hair. She jerked her chin slightly. “What’s that you’re wearing?” 

He realized he was gesturing at his whistle. “This?” Irvine pulled the leather cord until a small piece of carved wood was retrieved from the water. “This is my chocobo whistle.” He continued at a curious noise from the saloon keeper. “You see, the chocobos I run are raised on a ranch down in Texas. They’re taught from when they’re hatchlings to respond to the whistle.”

Kuja arched her brows. “You can do that?”

“Sure. They’re big dumb birds, but they’re still smarter than cattle.” Irvine smiled. “I blow this whistle, and they know if it’s time to eat, time to rest, time to move on. They know if there’s danger they can’t see. And if I blow it just right, it’ll make them cause a commotion that scares the piss out of any indians that are around.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that they’re afraid of chocobos. Call them ‘thunder birds’.”

“That’s right. The birds were brought over from Spain, so for all the indians here know, they’re some kind of punishment from a god or something.”

“I’ve always thought they were cute,” Kuja said. “You know, for a giant chicken.”

“I’ve seen uglier animals,” he said.

“Why are you still wearing it now, though? You haven’t been around the birds in days.”

“I can’t take it off,” he said. “The strap is too short. So I just leave it on. Doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh. I see.” She deftly twisted her hair back into a braid and tied the end off with a small length of cord.

“Why let it down if you’re just going to pull it back again?”

“It was too tight. Giving me a headache. But, I still want it out of my face.”

“Oh.” He felt dumb for asking. She set a towel on the bench next to the tub.

“For when you’re done. I’m going to be in the kitchen, okay?”

“Okay, thank you, Kuja.”

She smiled and left the little bathroom. Irvine stared at the empty doorway for awhile before finishing his bath. He even took the extra step to clean off his privates, though he slightly regretted that Kuja wasn’t around to appreciate his efforts. It did have the side effect of making him think of her hand, and he had to will himself into behaving. He got out of the water, ignoring how fretfully dirty it was now, and picked up the towel. He was in the midst of patting off his calves when a voice rang out from the bedroom.

“Oh, good, you’re done. I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep in there.”

He might have yelped in surprise, though he was far too much of a man to ever admit doing so. He held the towel in front of his groin. Kuja was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile on her pretty lips.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Oh.” It sounded like a challenge to the cowboy, and so he dropped the towel. Her silvery brows arched. “Dear me, I seem to have exposed myself in front of a lady.”

Her tone was coy. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He watched as she stepped closer, wondering what she was going to do. He felt exceedingly vulnerable. What if she pulled a knife on him or something? He wasn’t sure why she would, but just as much he wasn’t sure he could defend himself against her like that.

She took his hand and gave it a tug in the direction of her bed. “Sit.”

Not knowing what else to do--his clothes and keys were still in the bathroom so it wasn’t like he could just run back to his room upstairs in a juvenile cloud of shame--he followed her lead and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re very, um, bossy when you want to be.”

“Probably from having to raise a bratty little brother.” She knelt in front of him, taking a moment to arrange her skirt. She rested a hand, palms bare and smooth, against each of his knees and pushed at them gently. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s quite, ah, charming, really.” He made a noise in his throat as her fingers made their way up over the fine copper hairs of his thighs and straight to his groin. “Ah, Kuja...”

“I’m not sure why,” she said as her fingers curled around the base of his cock. “But now that I’ve touched it, I keep wanting to touch it again.”

He swallowed. “Perhaps you’ve gone too long without?”

She looked up at him. Her eyes were dark. “Perhaps.” One hand moved lower, her fingers teasing at his balls. “Maybe I just like the dumbfounded look on your face whenever I touch you.”

“I-ah--well--”

“Yes, that’s the one.” She leaned down between his knees, tongue darting out to lick at the tip of his cock. He leaned back on his palms, angling just enough to watch. It was a wonderful thing to both see and feel, the tongue lavishing attention down the head and along the underside of his cock, followed by her pink lips closing around the tip. Her left hand continued to play with his balls, while the right stroked up and down his shaft, right up to the point where her mouth was wetting and warming the head. It all worked in a perfect rhythm that rendered unable to think of anything to say. It was a rather pleasant state of being, really, but it did not last long. Much as the first time, Kuja’s ministrations were perhaps a little too skilled, and it was not long before he reached orgasm. She looked up at him as he came, lips still covering the head of his cock, blue eyes deep and calm as she swallowed what he had to give.

When he was spent, he flopped back onto the soft bed cover. He was aware of Kuja getting up and going into the bathroom. By the time she emerged, his clothes in tow, he was able to think again properly.

“I need to help you out more often, I think.”

She smiled and set his things down next to him on the bed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, cowboy.”

She was the one who had just sucked him off, he thought. “Are you sure I can’t return the favor?”

“I’m sure.” Kuja gestured at the clothes. “Everything’s there. I’ll empty the tub; don’t worry about it.”

He had forgotten about the bathtub. “Thank you.”

She disappeared back into the bathroom while he pulled his clothes back on. She emerged when he was buttoning up his shirt, gloves back on her hands. Kuja stopped in front of him. She caught his chin in her palm and pulled his face down for a kiss. It was soft and brief.

“You certainly know how to thank a fella properly, Miss Kuja.”

“I’m glad you approved of my methods.” She traced a finger along the line of his jaw. The sensation of the lace pulling gently along his skin sent a shiver down his spine, and it took every ounce of control in his body to keep himself in check. 

“You need to shave,” she said, her voice a low murmur that had nearly the same effect on him as her touch.

He swallowed. “I might in a few days, before I leave town.”

“I could do it for you.”

Hell, Irvine thought, there were plenty of things she could do for him, and shaving was not currently on that list.

“Maybe, before I leave.”

She nodded and withdrew her hand. “Well. Thank you again, Irvine.” Kuja smiled. “Good night.”

Part of him wished that she would ask him to stay with her, but he knew she would not. He smiled in return. “Good night, Miss Kuja.” He picked up his boots and made his way out of her room, through the kitchen, and back up the stairs to the second floor. His ankle twinged on the last step. He sighed, limping the rest of the way back to his room.

 

_End Chapter 5_


	6. Fuss and Bustle

Chapter 6: Fuss and Bustle

The next week was a bit dull for the cowboy. Zidane had been barred from drinking by his sister for the time being, and none of the people that Irvine had taken to drinking with were currently in town. Even Ardyn Izunia had taken leave of Devil’s Ambition to, as he stated it, ‘put some work in’. He didn’t mind completely, because it gave him sufficient time to practice his card playing skills, even if he never did win a penny off of Zidane or anyone else at the saloon.

“You want to play another hand?” Zidane was collecting the playing cards after winning another hand of poker.

“I’m lucky we’re just playing for bits,” Irvine said with a sigh. Zidane laughed.

“Don’t you know, Kuja doesn’t make any money selling booze. We just keep this place going with my gambling winnings.” He grinned and tapped the deck on the well worn surface of the table. The front door opened and Kuja entered the saloon, carrying a few paper packages from the general store.

“ _Cher frère_ , make yourself useful for a minute and put this in the kitchen for me.” She set the packages down on the table with a thunk, and then deposited herself in the empty seat adjacent to Irvine. Zidane sighed, setting his cards down and picking up the packages.

“Yeah, no problem.” 

Irvine watched Kuja pull a paper fan out of a skirt pocket and begin to flutter it in front of her face. “Hot outside?”

“Outside, inside, everywhere. But, that’s July for you.” She smiled as Zidane returned to the table and set a glass of water in front of her. “Oh, thank you.”

Zidane sat and picked up his cards. “Did you want to play?”

“What, poker, with you two?”

“Sure. Ardyn isn’t here to try to make you bet something indecent.”

“Oh, well...” She looked at Irvine for a moment, and the shrugged. “Sure, deal me in. I have some time before I have to start on supper.”

The three played cards for nearly an hour. Irvine was surprised to discover that Kuja was quite good at card games, even managing to beat her brother a few times. When he mentioned this, she just laughed softly.

“You shouldn’t be surprised, cowboy. Who do you think taught him to play?” She smiled. “I taught him everything he knows.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to brag about,” Zidane said as he shuffled the cards. Kuja wiggled in her seat for a moment, her right knee bumping against Irvine’s left.

“Don’t listen to him,” she said. “I take care of him all this time and he acts like I’m some daft old maid.”

Irvine shifted his leg, lightly pressing his knee against hers. She did not move away. He smiled.

“Well, you’re the loveliest daft old maid I’ve seen on the prairie,” Irvine said. Kuja lightly swatted at his arm.

“You have almost no manners, cowboy. One would think you were raised by a flock of chocobos.”

“No, just a prostitute and a mean drunk,” Irvine said. He added: “God rest his soul.”

“Your father?”

“Mm, no, never met the man. Pops was just some fella that my mother lived with for a few years. I think he died about a year after I left home.” Irvine scratched his chin. “I don’t think she loved him, though. You know? She wasn’t the sort. I think he was just security.”

Kuja tilted her head. “Security can be a nice thing to have. Or least, the illusion of security. It’s so dangerous out here sometimes.”

“She says that, but she won’t let me have a gun,” Zidane said. He dealt another hand.

“You don’t need a gun. That will just get you into more trouble, and your little fidgety monkey butt already gets yourself into enough trouble as it is.”

Zidane gave an exasperated sigh. “Kuja--”

“If you get locked up again Zidane, I swear I will let you stay in there. I would rather have you rot than have to grovel to Mateus again.”

“Right, right.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, what exactly happened with you and the mayor?”

“I do mind you asking,” Kuja said with a soft huff. “That isn’t something worth dredging up.”

“Maybe, but I find it odd that you live right across the street from someone you hate so much it makes your eyes twitch.”

She looked alarmed, a hand going to touch the corner of her eye. “My eyes don’t twitch!”

“They do a little,” Zidane said. “When someone mentions Mateus.”

She frowned and fixed her gaze on the table top. “I didn’t sit here to have the two of you gang up on me.”

Irvine reached under the table and gently placed his hand on Kuja’s knee. She jerked in her seat, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I just don’t want to talk about him, okay?”

“You brought him up,” Zidane said.

“Shut up,” she said.

“It’s okay, Kuja, really,” Irvine said. “I just don’t like seeing a pretty woman like you so upset.”

She looked at him, pursing her lips. Under the table, he felt her place her hand on top of his, and squeeze it lightly before moving it from her knee.

“I appreciate the sentiment, cowboy, I do. But, there’s nothing that can be done about past problems.” She let his hand go. “How about another game, before I have to go to the kitchen?”

“If you win, I’ll cut up the potatoes for tonight,” Zidane said. She smiled smugly at him.

“You were going to do that, anyways.”

“Well, if you win, I’ll help, too,” Irvine said. She blinked and smiled at him.

“You don’t have to do that, Irvine.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I want to.”

She looked at the cards that Zidane had dealt her. “Play fair. I don’t want to think you’re letting me win on purpose.”

A hand of cards later, and Zidane was shuffling off to the kitchen.

“I didn’t let you win,” Irvine said. Kuja smiled.

“No, but I’m sure Zidane did. He can be sweet like that sometimes.”

The front door creaked, and they shifted in their seats to look at the new arrival. A petite woman with long dark brown hair in a braid peeked into the saloon. Kuja got up from the table.

“Tifa, sweetheart, so good to see you!”

The woman smiled and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a plain white calico blouse that pulled a bit tightly over her breasts and the smallest hint of a bump at her belly, and a long black skirt. The woman smiled.

“I just wanted to let you know that Rude wasn’t going to be making it in to work tonight,” she said.

“Oh, is he ill?”

“Kind of,” the woman said, her expression a touch sheepish. “He and Reno had another... disagreement.”

Kuja sighed. “Those two.”

Tifa shrugged. “I’ll be come in to work in his place, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. How is your throwing arm?”

She laughed and flexed her right arm. “Just fine, Miss Kuja.”

“Good. I trust you’ll be back later?”

She nodded. “I was just picking up something to finish supper, but wanted to let you know. I’m not sure if Reno will be around, either. I think he’s still sulking.”

“Well, I don’t pay Reno, so that’s okay.”

Tifa smiled. “Good. I’ll be back later!”

When the young woman was gone, Kuja returned to the table. She did not sit, though, and instead curled her fingers along the back of the chair she had been occupying.

“Not sure I’ve seen her before,” Irvine said. “I think I would have remembered her... face.”

Kuja snorted. “Her big breasts, yes, I know.” She waved a hand. “That’s Tifa. She’s engaged to Rude. You know, our bartender. They’re due to get married... well, before the baby is born.”

“Better late than never, I suppose. Reno, though?”

Kuja shrugged. “He lives with them.”

“Oh.” He scratched his nose. “What did you mean by throwing arm?”

She smirked. “Miss Tifa has been known to throw a few drunks out of here on their ear.”

“Oh dear.”

“She’s got her usefulness.” 

Irvine hummed thoughtfully. “You know, if Reno isn’t here, you could always play piano instead.”

She blushed. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Darn. I thought it was worth suggesting.”

“No, no.” Kuja shook her head and then patted the back of the chair. “Well then, I believe you were going to help out with supper?”

He smiled. “Just give your orders.”

“Good. We can start with hauling water.”

“Fantastic.”

 

Irvine was beginning to feel a bit restless, and as he paid for a third week at the Desert Palace he knew it would have to be his last. Not only was he starting to bore a bit of the quiet town life, but by the end of this third week his funds would be too low to do anything more than buy some supplies, collect his horses, and head back to Texas. Despite this, the thought of leaving saddened him slightly. There was no lovely, standoffish saloon keeper with a penchant for late night mischief waiting for him back at the ranch in Texas. He knew it might have been a bad idea to linger in town for so long, because he ran the risk of becoming too attached. 

However, despite his tendency to ride the plains alone, he was starting to wonder if perhaps becoming too attached was necessary a bad thing. He knew he couldn’t continue being a cowboy forever--he was young, sure, but the whole thing was hell on his body. What if he was taking a liking to Miss Kuja because his mind knew that it was about time for him to start growing up and settling down? He wasn’t sure he could handle living in a town like this, though. Too many people, too much gossip, too much potential trouble. Out on a drive he just had to worry about things that his basic wits or his gun could not handle. Here in town he felt like he had to watch his back, and he hadn’t even done anything that he knew of to draw out anyone’s ire. For him, it was almost as tiring as having to keep track of three hundred chocobos.

At least his ankle was nearly mended, so he would not have that potentially holding him back when it was time to depart.

He lay on his bed on Friday afternoon, listening to the afternoon with the window cracked open. He was flipping through a copy of the Farmer’s Almanac, checking how long it would be until the next full moon, when there was a soft knock on his door. It creaked open before he had a chance to call. Kuja’s pretty face peeked in around the side of the door, her cheeks a bit flushed.

“Hey there, cowboy, you in here?”

“Yeah, I’m in here.” He closed the book and tossed it aside as the saloon keeper pushed the door open and slipped into the room. “You been cracking the bottles open already?”

Kuja chuckled and made her way over to the bed. “Don’t be silly. We got a new shipment in today and I had to check to make sure everything was quality.”

“Well, was it?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and laughed softly. “It wasn’t piss, at least.” Kuja sat indelicately on the edge of the bed.

“That’s good to hear.” He peered up at her. “Did you need something?”

“I just thought I would come and say hello,” she said, her tone light. She picked at the fingertips of her right glove. “Did you mind?”

“Not entirely. I was gonna head out in a few minutes for a little ride.”

“Oh.” She looked at her hand. “You’ll be leaving in a few days, is that right? Zidane said you didn’t pay for another week.”

“That was the plan. I can’t stay here forever. Chocobos don’t drive themselves.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that’s true.” She sighed and picked at the bedcovers. “It must be nice, being able to just pick up and go and not have to worry about anything or anyone that you leave behind.”

“Home is where my saddle is,” Irvine said. “Though, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have something more permanent.”

“Nothing is really permanent,” she murmured. He scratched at his forehead.

“I’ll think of you, after I leave.”

She lifted her eyes and half turned to face him. “You will?”

“Yeah. I mean, of course I will. How could I not.”

She smiled for a moment, but as the look faded she said: “I’ll think of you, too.”

“Good thoughts, I would hope.”

“Mostly, yes.” She leaned over him and caught his face between her hands. The softness of her gloves tickled against his skin. “Irvine, I have two secrets to tell you, but only one I can tell you right now.”

He looked up at her, puzzled. He hadn’t been expecting any confessions, even if she had been imbibing. “Okay, and what’s the secret?”

She stooped in and murmured against his lips. “I do believe in love at first sight.”

He kissed her, and then asked: “What’s the second secret?”

Something sad crept into her smiling expression. “I can’t tell you that one right now, I’m afraid. Someday later, maybe.” She sat up, dusting her hands down her front. “Maybe.”

“Wait, why not right now?”

Kuja shook her head. “I just can’t right now. You’ll understand later. I think.”

He sighed as Kuja pushed up from his bed and turned to the door. “Kuja, please, wait. Don’t leave.” He sat up and held out a hand. “You have such a pretty smile when you’re happy, did you know that? I hate how everything here takes your smile away.”

“That’s just how life out here is,” she said. “You’re a cowboy, Irvine. You know how hard this place is on a person.”

“Then, we could leave.”

“What?”

“You and me. We could get married and leave this place and go--” He stopped at a soft, scoffing laugh from Kuja. “What? What did I say?”

“You’re starting to sound like as much a hopeless romantic as he did.” She shook her head. “I can’t marry you, Irvine. Not ever.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

He looked down at his hands, at the rough skin and the patchy scars from years of cattle and chocobo drives. “I suppose I could have worded that better.”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, cowboy.”

“I did mean them, though,” he said. “We could leave.”

“I can’t leave. Zidane would never leave, and I still have to think about Quistis’s well being.”

“That’s just an excuse.”

“An excuse can still be the truth.” She moved to the doorway.

“Kuja,” he called. She stopped, hand on the open door. “Do you love me?”

“I’d like to,” she said, and left the room.

 

_End Chapter 6_


	7. No Mercy

Chapter 7: No Mercy

He sat on the bed, staring at the door and wondering at what had just transpired. Why had she said such cryptic things? That was a woman’s prerogative, he supposed, but then why had he asked her that in return? He wasn’t in love with the woman, was he? He didn’t think that he was, but when he dwelt upon it, he felt a sting of sad fondness in his chest, the sort of feeling that he used to get when he was younger and homesick thinking of his mother. What did that mean? He had no idea, and decided to do something else to take his mind off of his thoughts. 

He took his saddle and retrieved Annabelle from the livery, and set out on a path out of town.

He did not know exactly where he was headed, and the horse was less than happy to be taken out of her comfortable box to be ridden in the heat of the afternoon, but Irvine did not really care. He just rode, hoping that the hot, dry air would clear out his head and make sense of his thoughts.

“You have it so much easier, girl,” he said to the horse as they picked their way along a thin stream bank. “You just stand around and eat grass. Maybe a nice stallion comes along when you’re in season, maybe he don’t, no big deal.”

The horse just snorted at him, her ear flicking at a pestering fly. He stopped to let her drink from the stream and looked around. They had traveled a few miles west out of town. They were far enough away now that the buildings of the little town were no longer visible, just the faint threads of gray and white from kitchen fires were visible now. The afternoon sun was bright and blinding, and if Irvine hadn’t known where he was he could have thought himself in the absolute middle of nowhere. Annabelle snorted softly, her ears flicking toward the western horizon. Irvine looked that way. A few buildings were visible, small and distant, perhaps from one of the local chocobo ranches. Closer to that, though, was the shape of three figures on horseback, advancing on his position.

“Shit, why didn’t you warn me earlier?” He decided just to hold his ground. For all he knew, it was just three people passing by on their way to Devil’s Ambition. He passed strangers all the time while on a drive, this was no different. Well, no different except his rifle was locked up back at his room at the Desert Palace. He didn’t even have his binoculars with him to try and suss out who was approaching him before they got closer. So, he waited.

Annabelle finished her drink and stuck her head down into the long grass to find something to eat, and was contently munching away by the time the three riders drew into clearer view. There were two men on brown horses--or perhaps the Asian looking one was a woman, it was difficult to tell--and a man in the lead on a white and gray horse. The man on the white horse said something to the others, and they hung back. As the third came closer, Irvine wished he had his rifle with him.

“Well, howdy there, cowboy. What are you doing way out here?” The white horse came to a stop only a few yards away, and its smug rider sneered at him.

“Afternoon. Seifer, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.” The man was not being subtle, as he already had a rifle out and resting on his shoulder. He was squinting at Irvine. “You came from Devil’s Ambition, right? How’s the sheriff doing?”

“Why don’t you go ask on him yourself? I’m sure he’d love the visit.”

Seifer grimaced, his fingers tightening their grip on the stock of the rifle. “Aren’t you a sassy little thing. I remember seeing you--you were at Miss Kuja’s saloon the last time we stopped into to get supplies.”

“I might have been, sure.”

The big blond man frowned. “No, I’m quite sure of it. You were sitting with her kid brother at his table and making eyes at her.”

“What business is it to you? I’m free to make acquaintances with any unattached woman that I want to. And as Miss Kuja tells me, you left her unattached quite some time ago.”

“That wasn’t how it went at all,” he said. “Not that she would tell the whole story to some dumb cowboy kid like you who’s just passing through.”

Irvine was quiet. Seifer moved his horse closer, until he could have poked Irvine in the face with his rifle if he had felt so inclined.

“You went and let yourself get sweet on Miss Kuja, didn’t you? And I bet she’s been stringing you along, too.”

“Not at all,” Irvine said. Seifer snorted softly.

“Please, you aren’t fooling anyone. You smell like half a honeysuckle bush yourself.”

Irvine shifted on his saddle. “What are you getting at?”

“You would be wise to leave Devil’s Ambition behind and find some flower that ain’t already been pollinated.” Seifer sneered at him. “Kuja ain’t for you. I’m the only man who could take care of a woman like Kuja.”

“If you liked her so much, you should have married her and not left her for someone else.”

The big man scoffed. “Kuja ain’t the marrying type.”

“She’s said much the same to me.”

“And it ain’t no business of yours if I left her for another man.” Seifer turned his head and spat into the grass between their horses.

“I would say what I might do with Miss Kuja isn’t really any of your business, either.”

Seifer worked his jaw as he stared at Irvine. There was something dark in his expression of which the cowboy could not fathom the meaning. Seifer looked over his shoulder at the two other people on horseback. His jaw ground in the opposite direction. He was thinking, Irvine could tell, and to see the gears turning in the head of a thug of a man was moderately terrifying to the cowboy. Finally he shifted in his seat and returned his focus to Irvine.

He leaned in across the small gap between the horses. “I’ll tell you a little secret, cowboy. Just between you and me.”

“And, what’s that?”

A smirk settled itself on the other man’s mouth. “Kuja is not the right kind of woman for you. In fact, Kuja is no kind of woman at all.”

Irvine blinked. “What?”

Seifer gestured at Annabelle’s head. “That dumb mare of yours is more a woman than Kuja will ever hope to be.”

He frowned. “That’s impossible.”

“Believe what you want, cowboy. The truth is there, if you look for it.” He snorted. “Don’t know what Kuja thinks she’s doing, messing around with a stupid choke like you.” Seifer sneered again and poked at Irvine’s shoulder with the muzzle of his shotgun. “You probably didn’t even notice, even when she was touching your prick. And I’m sure she has--she’s the sort to get lonely awful fast. God knows she’s probably been absolutely miserable for it since I left.” He barked a laugh. “You don’t have to believe me, cowboy. You can go and flip up her skirts and see for yourself. That is, if she’ll let you get close enough to check. I’m willing to bet that she won’t.”

Irvine looked back over his shoulder, in the direction of Devil’s Ambition. His brain buzzed in his head, and he wasn’t sure what to think. Seifer laughed again and moved his horse away. Irvine returned his focus to the other man.

“Why would you say something about her like that?”

Seifer gave an insulted sniff. “I may be a cheat and a killer and a thief, but I’m no liar, cowboy. I leave that kind of thing up to a professional like Miss Kuja.” He shouldered his rifle and turned his horse to face the west. “Suit yourself, but I would recommend you steer clear of Devil’s Ambition in the future. Just go to Denver like all the other good little boys.”

Irvine didn’t know what to say, and so he was silent as Seifer began to ride away. He tugged on Annabelle’s reins, and started back in the direction of town. He had only been riding for about a minute, when a loud crack sounded behind him. There was a sharp slash of pain along his right bicep, and then he heard Seifer and the other two riders burst out laughing. Annabelle whinnied in alarm, and he had to rein her in tightly to keep her from bolting. Irvine looked behind him, but the three horses were already head off swiftly to the western horizon. Irvine looked at his right arm. There was a small tear in the fabric, and a bit of red was seeping through. It was just a graze. Irvine had the feeling Seifer had intentionally missed, and that he could have easily hit him in a more vital location if he had wanted to.

He brought his heels to his horse’s sides, and headed back to town.

 

When Annabelle had been sufficiently soothed and safely ensconced in her stable, and Josephine had also been placated for having her sister taken away from her again, Irvine made his way back to the saloon. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but found that the answer came to him when he opened the front door. Kuja was standing at the bar, humming softly as she rubbed spots off of the drinking glasses. She looked up at the sound of the door, and smiled at him.

“Hey there, cowboy. How was your ride?”

“It was... it was interesting.”

Her eyes surveyed him quickly, taking almost no time to find the error on his arm. “You’ve got some blood on you, Irvine. What happened? Are you alright?”

He picked at the edge of the tear on his sleeve. The wound stung slightly but was not bleeding profusely. “I ran into Seifer Almasy while I stopped to water my horse.”

“You must have ridden west, then,” she murmured. “What happened?”

“He shot at me while I was leaving. Missed, though.”

“He probably just wanted to scare you. That’s like him to do.” She moved around the bar, stopping in front of him and reaching to touch his torn sleeve. “I can get a bandage for you, if it isn’t too bad. Doctor Tot usually--” She fell silent as Irvine grabbed her outstretched hand. “Irvine? What’s wrong?”

He stared at her, mind still full of Seifer’s bitter words. He looked into her pretty face, and at her gloved hand, then down at her chest, and at her neck always covered in a high frilly collar. It was impossible to tell if Seifer had been telling the truth.

“Tell me, Kuja. Is Seifer a lying sort of fellow?”

“Seifer?” A frown creased the corners of her mouth. She pursed her lips. “No, I suppose I can’t say that he is.”

Irvine lowered her hand and let it go. “Well, Seifer told me that you were lying about who you were. That you...” He wasn’t sure how to say it. “That you’re not really a woman.”

She was silent, frozen, her eyes widened slightly.

“Kuja?”

She turned on her heel and swore loudly. “That miserable arsehole!”

“Kuja, what--”

“No, just-just don’t touch me.” She took a few steps away from him, but he followed. He had to know the truth, even if he didn’t want to know the truth.

“Please, Kuja, just tell me.”

Kuja looked up at him, eyes still wide. But when she spoke again, her voice had dropped and she sounded remarkably like Zidane. “Seifer was the only one who ever figured it out. Or at least, he’s the only one who ever said anything.”

He was dumbfounded. His brain stumbled and refused to accept what was being presented to him. “Are you a man or are you a woman?”

There was a hint of bitterness to Kuja’s voice. “I’m a man, obviously.”

“But you--”

“I’m a man, who dresses up like a woman, yes. I was aware of that, Irvine, thank you.” She moved away from him again, retreating behind the bar. “I know you probably find it repulsive. And, I understand. But I would appreciate it if you did me the kindness of not telling anyone else.”

“Yes, but why--”

“It’s not really any of your business.” She frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you hate me for my... dishonesty. I never meant to play with your emotions or sensibilities or anything like that.”

The truth explained away a great deal of some of Kuja’s more peculiar behaviors, but Irvine wasn’t sure he wanted the truth to be what it was. “I... alright.”

“I would’ve told you eventually,” she murmured. No, not she, Irvine told himself. But, his brain refused to let her go. He frowned.

“How far would you have let it gone before you bothered telling me?”

“I probably already let it go too far,” she said softly, not looking at him.

“No shit,” he said, and made his way up to his room.

 

Friday night at the saloon was miserable and awkward. He found himself unable to look the sober Zidane in the eye, unable to hold any sort of friendly banter with Kuja when she passed by their table, unable to enjoy himself at all. She did not address him directly on Saturday morning, except to ask if he needed more coffee. It was as thought their relationship had been reset to a point from two weeks before, as thought they had not gotten to know each other at all. But, then, had they really gotten to know each other at all? He supposed not, if he had been unable to see something so obvious about the woman--man? that he had been interested in.

And now? He did not know. What had been revealed had created a question in his mind. The question was as simple as it was unpleasant: If Irvine had known that Kuja was really a man in a dress, would he still have allowed himself to become even remotely entangled with her? Hell, would have let her touch him as she did? The answer was brutal and brief: no, of course not. He had always preferred the company of women, and had never considered men for any sort of romantic or physical interactions. It was that simple. There was no malice behind it. He was not like Seifer, who had wielded Kuja’s secret like a weapon with the straightforward intent of driving them apart. And it had worked.

So he sat on the floor of his room Saturday afternoon, going through the contents of the footlocker, checking his gear, and generally preparing to get back on the trial. His room was paid through Tuesday, yes, but he did not think he could stand to stay any longer. There was something sad and broken in Kuja’s gaze when she glanced at him, and he could not bear it. She had been caught in her lie and was paying for it, but it was Irvine who felt the fool.

Quistis stood on the porch in the afternoon heat, fanning herself as she watched the cowboy retrieve his horses from the livery and tie them up to the hitching post. She watched him bring down his saddle and blanket and other gear for Annabelle.

“I wish you could stay longer,” she said.

Irvine smiled at her. “A man’s got to work, Miss Quistis. Can’t buy boots for my feet and corn for my horses if I don’t work.”

“You could find a job here.”

He shook his head. “Naw, I’ve got people down in Texas that are expecting me to come back sooner or later. I’m needed there.”

“But, what about...” She trailed off as the front door squeaked open and Zidane stepped outside. The little blond man stretched his arms over his head.

“Aw, hell, I thought Quistis was exaggerating when she said you were leaving really-really right now.” He scratched at his tailbone. “Are you sure you have to go already? If I can’t drink and don’t have anyone to play cards with, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You need to get a hobby, then,” Irvine said. Zidane followed him as he went back inside and up to his room to collect his pack and rifle and the supplies he had purchased that morning from the general store.

“Drinking and playing cards _is_ my hobby,” Zidane said.

“I’m sure someone will be back soon enough for you to take money from,” he said. Zidane continued to trail after him as he went back down the stairs.

“Listen, about what Seifer said...”

Irvine frowned. “Don’t mention it, alright? What’s truth is truth.”

“Yes, but...” Zidane sighed. “Do you think you’ll come back to Devil’s Ambition any time soon?” He held the door open for Irvine. “Or at all?”

“Maybe someday,” Irvine said. “I don’t know if I’m going to do another drive this year. It’ll be starting to get late in the year by the time I get back to Texas.”

“Do you think you’ll take a train back south?”

“Probably not. Josephine here is afraid of train cars.” The horse in question snorted as he patted her on the back. “We can go faster when we don’t have a herd with us, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Will you write us a letter when you get back to Texas?” Quistis asked. Irvine glanced up from checking all the straps and buckles on the horses.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been much of one for letter writing.”

“Oh,” she said with a slight pout. “I thought it would be fun to get a letter.”

“We’ll see. You have to promise to be good and not mess around too much with the mayor.”

She giggled and nodded. “I can do that, Mister Irvine.”

He adjusted his hat on his head, and then pulled his room key from his pocket. “Here you go, Zidane. Safe and sound, no need to fuss over losing it.”

“Thank you,” Zidane said, and stuck the key in his pocket. “Weren’t you going to say good-bye to Kuja before you left?”

“I don’t think she wants--” He quieted as the door opened and Kuja emerged from the saloon. She had on her black dyed cotton dress, and her purple shawl was draped over her shoulders as though she were cold.

“ _Frère,_ , Quistis, are you quite done bothering Mr. Kinneas?”

“We were just saying good-bye, Miss Kuja,” Quistis said. She smiled at Irvine and waved. “Don’t forget the letter!”

“I won’t forget, Miss Quistis.” He tipped his hat to her and she ran off inside.

“Stop by next time you’re in the area,” Zidane said. “We’ll play a few hands.” Irvine nodded and watched the younger man dart off across the street in the direction of the general store. He looked back at Kuja, who was looking at her hands.

“Is it safe to leave this late in the day?” she asked, her voice small and resigned. Irvine untied Josephine from the hitching post and attached her lead to her sister’s reins.

“I’ve got to stop by the Highwind ranch on the way out. Figure I’ll stop there and bed down for the night before heading south tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips. “Irvine, I--it was nice to meet you. You’ve been a well behaved guest, for a cowboy.”

He smiled for a moment. “Yeah.” Irvine cleared his throat and untied Annabelle from the hitching post. “I gave Zidane my room key.”

“Okay.” She looked down, but Irvine still saw that her eyes were wet.

“Hey.” He stooped and looked into her pretty face. “I’m sorry, Kuja. I don’t hate you. I just can’t stay.”

“I know,” she said in a whisper. She sniffed softly and held out her right hand. “Here. For you.”

“What’s this?” He took a small paper wrapped package from her outstretched hand. Kuja licked her lips.

“It’s, um, some sugar. So you don’t have to go without on your ride back.”

He tucked the little package away in a pouch on his saddle bag. “Thank you, Kuja. I appreciate it.”

“Yes, well. You’re welcome.” She picked at the edge of her shawl. “You should go, before I start crying.”

“Don’t cry over a fool cowboy like me, Kuja. There’s no sense in that.”

She sniffed again. “I’ll do what I want. Just go.”

He nodded and vaulted up onto the back of his horse. Annabelle snuffled and shifted her weight.

“Good-bye, Kuja.”

She did not turn her pretty, pinched face up to watch him go. “Good-bye, Irvine.”

 

_End Chapter 7 ___


	8. Cold

Chapter 8: Cold  
December, 1876

“Woah, woah! Watch it now, Anna!”

His horse neighed unhappily as her hooves slipped on the cold, wet grass. Around them, the chocobos were in a loud panic, calling and flapping their little wings and stomping their big leathery bird feet. Behind them, Josephine was snorting and angry and biting at her lead ropes.

“Josephine you calm down, it’s just a goddamned wolf don’t act like you’ve never seen one before!” He gave the lead a tug, but the mare grunted and tugged back at it. “You are not running you stupid nag, he’ll eat you right up.” The horse snorted and pawed at the frigid ground. Irvine pulled his rifle from its usual spot on his saddle and looked around. The chocobos were still making a racket, but he could see the lead bird not far ahead with its bright green strip of cloth tied around its neck. The big bird was hopping up and down and looked like it was trying to fly away.

Irvine sighed. The last day of a drive was almost always the roughest.

It was late in the afternoon, and starting to get darker on the far eastern horizon. To the west the sun was already sinking behind the foothills. They had been delayed by the snarling cold of a snow flurry in the morning, and then by several trains slowly making their way down the tracks all afternoon. Now the tracks had finally cleared, and half dozen damned wolves had shown up, attracted by the flock of chocobos. Irvine hadn’t even had to blow his whistle to kick the chocobos into a frenzy. The wolves had grabbed a yearling and dragged the poor thing off, and he could still hear it crying off in the long, yellowed grass.

“Damned things trying to eat my money,” he groused to himself as he readied his rifle. He stared into the long grass. There was the flip of a dark gray tail, and he fired at it. A wolf yipped in pain, and then as a unit he saw the six wolves turn and off away along the line of the tracks. He sighed and blew the whistle to try and calm the chocobos down. To his surprise, the little yearling got up and ambled toward the flock. It was scratched up and the wolves seemed to have been chewing on its wing, but the little bird would probably live long enough to be properly slaughtered at the ranch.

“Whenever we get there,” he said under his breath.

 

It was long after dark by the time the chocobos were brought in at the Highwind ranch. The sky was black and moonless, and even the stars seemed duller than normal without the moon to light their way. Irvine tended to his horses and then sat at the campfire, cold but glad to be off the trail.

“We were starting to think you weren’t going to make it in,” Cid said. He shoved a mug of coffee into Irvine’s hands. “There you go, Shera’s special.”

“Thank you. I was starting to think we weren’t going to make it, either.”

“Nearly a week late.”

Irvine sighed and rolled his shoulders. “That’s what I get for doing a run so late in the year. But, I was getting bored at the ranch, so...”

“As restless as a wild damn chocobo,” Cid said. “You still brought in a pretty good number.”

“No thanks to nature doing everything it could to stop me. There was rain and then snow and wolves four damn times, and I had a bunch of indians following me for three days before they went off someplace else.”

“Damn. Well, we’re all glad you made it in one piece. Why don’t you rest a bit, son, before you head off to Denver? Stay tomorrow, read the Bible with us on Sunday morning, all that goodness.”

Irvine nodded tiredly. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping until next year.”

Cid laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Rest for tomorrow, at least. We’ll take care of the birds.”

“Alright. Thank you, old man.”

“There should be an open bed in the bunkhouse. I’ll let Shera know you’re staying for a day or two.”

Irvine nodded and watched the older man make his way back to the ranch house. He drank the coffee and stared into the fire, his mind barely able to keep a train of thought going long enough to keep him awake. He had left Devil’s Ambition, Colorado in late July, and made his way back down to the Highwind ranch in Texas. There he had spent August and the beginning of September working as a regular ranch hand, tending to the chocobos and helping with the regular upkeep of the place. But then, as he had said to Cid, he had gotten restless and a bit bored, so he had picked up a flock of chocobos and headed out on the trail again. He had hoped to have left early enough to avoid the fouler weather of late fall, but luck had not been on his side this ride. And so now it was mid-December, and he was back in Colorado again.  
Irvine set the empty mug down at his feet and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small folded piece of brown paper. It was from a package, and though its contents had long been consumed, he had stubbornly held on to the scrap of paper. He brought it to his nose and gave it a little sniff. It smelled like sweat and summer, but it also smelled faintly of honeysuckle. Irvine closed his eyes and sighed.

He had not been able to put what had transpired out of his mind. His ankle and arm were both long healed, the sugar had long been consumed, but he could not forget. He had not been able to forget the beautiful, standoffish saloon keeper and her gloves and high collars, no more than he had been able to forget why she wore those gloves and high collars.

He had left Colorado in July, quite certain that distance would let him forget. But it did not. He could not stop thinking about Kuja. Oh, sure, he had done his best to push her out of mind while he rode back to Texas. And while working on the ranch in August he had been too busy to let much of those past dalliances back into his mind. But there were times that he thought that he could smell honeysuckle and roses and something else that he did not know the name of. This had continued on into the next few months. While out on the trail, he was usually too exhausted by day’s end to spare a thought for anything other than sweet, blissful sleep. But in the early hours he would lie awake in the pre-dawn hush, listening to the soft calling of the chocobos, and he would think of her. Just the thought of her, not even anything in particular, was enough to make him feel warm while lying on the cool ground. He started to wonder why he had become infatuated with the memory of a woman who did not exist. Perhaps it was to keep himself from dwelling upon the fact that he had no real reason to return to Devil’s Ambition.

His mind would drift back to the question he had posited to himself in July. If he had known the truth, known Kuja’s secret, would he have still been interested in Kuja? His gut response then, when he was still really reacting to the revelation, had been no. He liked women. And he definitely did like women. But, maybe it was possible that he could like a man as well...

 

“Don’t know when the last time December was this cold.”

“We about near froze our asses off bringing in those damned birds.”

“Cid, language. It’s Sunday.”

He sighed. “Yes, dear.”

Irvine smiled, sipping his coffee. He had rested and been well fed on Saturday. Then he had woken up Sunday morning with the rest of the camp and ate breakfast while listening to Fred read from the Bible. It was quite pleasant and relaxing, but Cid was not kidding when he said it was cold. The ground was frigid beneath them, and they had to sit on their horse blankets so their bottoms did not in fact get frostbite.

“Kinneas, you need to shave. You’re getting little icicles on your beard.” The other men laughed, and Irvine scrubbed at his chin.

“My face is warm, at least.”

“So, Irvine, dear, what are you going to do for Christmas? It’s too cold now to head back to Texas.” Shera poured some more coffee into his cup. “You could stay here if you wanted.”

“You know we don’t have food or room for another person, Shera,” Cid groused. She clucked her tongue at him.

“Everything he does for us and you can’t even put him up for a few weeks until this cold breaks.”

“I’ll probably go to Denver, get a room,” Irvine said. “Stay there until I can get going again.”

“See, the boy knows what he’s going to do, don’t interfere.”

Shera sighed and shook her head. “But won’t it be lonely on Christmas?”

“That’s just part of being a cowboy,” Irvine said with a shrug.

“You should still come back on Christmas. We’ll fix a plate for you with everyone else.”

Cid grunted. “Just agree with her, kid. It’s easier in the long run.”

Irvine smiled. “I’ll think about it, thank you.”

 

Irvine left the Highwind ranch the next day and traveled to Denver. He rented a room and spent the day perusing the various shops that could be found in the city. The place made him uncomfortable. It was too crowded, too bustling and busy for his tastes. He had grown too used to being out on his own in the middle of nowhere with no one but two horses and a few hundred chocobos to keep him company. There were thousands and thousands of people here, and it made him a little anxious. So he found himself standing in a mercantile, staring at a shelf full of bolts of dyed cotton cloth, when he was struck with the realization that he did not want to stay in Denver. He did not know where he might go--perhaps back to the Highwind ranch, but he knew he did not want to stay in a city that made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Looking for a Christmas gift for your little lady?” A voice shook him out of his thoughts, and he looked behind him at the store clerk. “We’ve got an assortment of locally made goods, as well as some fine wares in from the East coast. Just got a shipment of dried fruits in on a train today, actually.” The clerk gave him a hopeful smile. He wanted to tell the clerk that no, he was really just lingering inside because it was warmer than being outside, that he had no one to buy anything for, sorry to waste her time. Then a thought touched at the back of his mind.

“What do you recommend for a fellow on a budget who has a woman who is difficult to find things for?”

The clerk perked up and pressed her hands together. “Why, candy, of course. We’ve got hard candy and chocolates made in town and sugared plums from Philadelphia!”

He smiled. “Good. That sounds like a start.”

 

The stables were crowded, but he was still able to rent a box for his horses. Once they were settled in, Irvine made his way to the Desert Palace Hotel and Saloon. He swallowed as he put his hand on the door handle, feeling a flutter of nervousness in his chest. The metal of the handle was bitingly cold, even through his leather glove, as the morning sunlight did little more than to warm the area to just above freezing. Irvine adjusted the weight of his pack on his shoulder, opened the door and stepped inside, glad for the moderate warmth that was offered. He quickly closed the door behind him to keep the cold out where it belonged. It was mid-morning, so the tables were as empty as he had expected and hoped. The only occupant of the room was a person standing at the bar. They were wearing a dark green calico dress with a white apron over it, though the high collar was hidden under a shawl and furry gray cloak that were draped over their shoulders. 

Irvine opened his mouth, wanting to say something witty to get their attention. But he could think of nothing appropriate, so he settled for closing his mouth and clearing his throat instead.

At the bar, the silvery head lifted. There was a moment of quiet, and then a very small gasp of surprise.

“Irvine?”

He smiled. He knew the voice was fake, but he realized that he did not care.

“Miss Kuja.”

Kuja removed her--no, his--apron, tossing it aside as he rushed toward the door. Irvine set his pack on the floor and looked down at the other man. It really was uncanny, he thought as Kuja came to a stop in front of him. Kuja was just as beautiful as he remembered, and still definitely did not look anything like a man. He did not know what else to say, and so he simply stooped a bit and held out his hands. Kuja seemed to understand what he meant, because he threw himself bodily against the cowboy, wrapping his arms around his sides and squeezing him so hard that Irvine was afraid he might break something. He wrapped his arms around the other man and hugged him back, marveling in the warmth and the subtle smell of honeysuckle.

Kuja’s voice was muffled when he spoke. “I didn’t think you would be coming back here.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He released his grip on Irvine and leaned back, looking up at him. “You need to shave.”

Irvine laughed softly. “I will, once I can get settled into a room.”

Kuja’s brows drew together. “Oh. That’s a problem.”

“It is?”

He nodded. “All the rooms are rented. People in for the winter, or visiting relatives for Christmas. And Ardyn, but I don’t suppose you would want to bunk with him and whatever girl he’s borrowed from Mama Ulti today.”

Irvine frowned for a moment, thinking. “I suppose maybe I could work something out with the mayor. Or sleep with my horses.”

Kuja shook his head. “No, you don’t have to do that.” He shied and glanced away. “You could stay in my room, if you’d like.”

“With you staying in it, too?”

He hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. “Yes.” He pursed his lips. “I’m still going to make you pay. I’m running a business here, after all.”

“Not that kind of business, I thought.”

Kuja swatted his arm. “Don’t start or I’ll put you back out in the cold.”

He smiled. “I’ll behave.”

 

_End Chapter 8_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Bare Throats

Irvine followed Kuja through the kitchen and to his bedroom. It looked much the same as it had during the summer, though there were more blankets piled on the bed now and the fireplace was lit with a pile of split logs next to it.

“It’s been so cold the last few nights, I keep having to wake up during the night to stoke the fire.”

“I could help while I’m here,” he said.

“You can, yes.” She smiled. 

No, Irvine had to correct himself again. _He_ smiled. Hell, he, she, what did it matter? It was Kuja. 

“It’s a bit crowded in here during the winter,” Kuja said. “But, you can put your things here under the bureau. Will that do?”

“It will do just fine.”

He could feel Kuja’s gaze on him as he set his pack down and arranged it under the bureau. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I just--” He stopped and coughed, and his voice was lower when he spoke again. “It’s just a marvel to have you here. I really didn’t think you were coming back. And yet, here you are.”

“I had to have some time to think.” He righted himself and moved to sit at the foot of the bed. Kuja stood in front of him, hands restlessly fiddling with the ends of his shawl.

“You thought about me?”

“Well, to be honest--” He stopped as Kuja leaned in and touched his cheeks. “I, um, tried not to think about you. To move on. You know.”

Kuja frowned. “I suppose that’s understandable.”

“But after a week or two I started thinking about you again anyways. Little things, little ways, you snuck back into my mind.” He smiled. “I would be singing to the chocobos, and think of you sitting at the piano. I’d have a drink with the other ranchers and find myself thinking about how much you like to talk shop about alcohol. Things like that.”

“I see.” 

He covered Kuja’s hands with his own, staring into his eyes. “Kuja, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I... well, I got scared and ran off. It wasn’t the right thing to do.”

Kuja stared back at him silently. One of the logs in the fireplace snapped. “I forgive you.”

“That easily?”

“You came back, so I forgive you.” He smiled softly. “We all get scared and run off some times.”

“Thank you, Kuja.”

He gave a little nod, brushing his thumbs along Irvine’s beard. “You know, I don’t actually have a shaving kit of my own. I’ve never needed one.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Irvine said. “Well, that you haven’t had to, and that I have my kit in my pack.”

“Good. Get it out, and I’ll get some hot water.” He pressed a kiss to Irvine’s nose.

“Okay.”

Irvine got his shaving kit out from his pack. He went over to the wash basin and unrolled the leather pouch. He took out the badger hair brush and the little half empty pot of shaving soap and set them on the edge of the basin, followed by the straight razor and a small worn sharpening stone and its accompanying strop. He took off his hat and set it on a peg on the wall, and then splashed his face with water from the basin and rubbed it off. He went over to the dressing table and leaned down, looking at his reflection.

“Like what you see?”

Irvine glanced up as Kuja entered the room carrying a tin pot of water that steamed in the cool air. He smiled sheepishly.

“I don’t know, am I something that’s nice to look at? I don’t want to insult your mirror.”

“I’ve seen uglier,” Kuja said. He set the pot down on the table of the wash basin. “You’re a handsome enough man, Irvine. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Glad you think so.”

He gave Irvine an impish smile. “I’m pretty enough a girl not to have to settle for an ugly man, isn’t that right?”

Irvine snorted softly. “It sounds strange when you say it in that voice.” He went back over to the basin and picked up the razor and the strop. Kuja watched him run the blade along the strop a few times.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I assure you that I am completely a man underneath all this fuss and bustle.”

“I believe you, Kuja, but why the act?”

He shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, I’m sorry, but I think I’m too sober at present to get into that story just yet.”

Irvine set the strop down. “You’ll tell me, though?” He looked at Kuja. “I mean, if you... if you want this to be any kind of serious thing between us, I feel like I’m going to have to know.”

Kuja blushed. “Yes, I’ll tell you. Just not right now.”

“Okay.” He picked up a small towel from the side of the basin and dunked it into the pot of hot water. “Do you have a mug I could use for the soap?”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

Irvine wrung out the towel and applied it to his face. He was still like this when Kuja returned with a small cup. Kuja laughed softly.

“You know, I used to lament that I never really grew any facial hair,” he said. “Now I’m glad for it, for multiple reasons.”

“Why do you think so many men keep a beard? Shaving is a hassle when you’re on the trail.”

“I can imagine so.” He watched while Irvine removed the towel from his face. “Do you want me to help?”

Irvine put a dollop of shaving soap into the mug and picked up the brush. “Do you know how to shave a man’s face?”

Kuja blushed again. “Well, I’ve never done it to myself, but I’ve done it before to other people. You know, other men I’ve been involved with. And the occasional guest will pay quite nicely to have the pretty saloon keeper shave their face.” He pursed his lips. “Unless you don’t trust me holding a knife to your throat.”

“Darlin’, if I didn’t trust you, then I wouldn’t have offered.” He went over to the dressing table and peered into the mirror as he applied the soapy lather to his beard. Kuja dragged the bench over to the wash basin and gave it a pat.

“Have a seat, then.”

Irvine sat. He watched as Kuja removed his gloves and tossed them onto the bed. He was surprised as he looked at Kuja’s bare hands. He could remember ‘her’ past excuse for wearing gloves being because she didn’t like how her hands looked. Irvine saw why--despite their smooth skin, Kuja’s hands were unmistakenably that of a male. They lacked the delicate grace and subtle symmetry of a woman’s hands. But, he thought as Kuja picked up the razor, there was still something beautiful about them.

He closed his eyes and tipped his head back enough to give Kuja room to reach all of his face. The other man was quiet as he worked, and for a few minutes the only sounds came from their breathing, the soft scraping of the razor through the hair and soap, and the occasional clink of the razor against the edge of the basin. Kuja’s touch was firm and yet still gentle, pulling the skin taut before running the razor over it. 

Eventually Irvine’s cheeks and jaws had been freed from their copper colored coat. Kuja stopped and made a slightly flustered noise. Irvine cracked his eyes open.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not really good with the upper lip,” he said. “I don’t want to cut you.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I can finish up.” Irvine smiled. “I don’t mind.”

Kuja nodded, rinsing off the razor and holding it out. “Thank you.”

He took the razor and leaned in front of the dressing table mirror. “You did fairly well.”

Kuja smiled. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do. Didn’t even cut me.”

“I was a little nervous.”

Irvine chuckled as he shaved his chin and upper lip. “So was I, to be honest. But then, I always get a little nervous with a knife in my face.” He washed his face and applied another layer of shaving soap.

“Why are you doing it again?”

“Well, you went with the grain. I’m going to go against the grain. It’ll make it nice and smooth.” He smiled. “Smoother than a freshly baptized baby’s bottom, as my friend Cid likes to say.”

“I don’t really have that much experience with baby butts, but I’ll take your word on that.”

Kuja watched as Irvine went over his face again with the razor. After Irvine had finished, washed his face off, and patted it dry with a towel, Kuja leaned in and kissed him.

“I think I’m in agreement with the chocobos about the beard issue,” he said softly.

“Now, Miss Kuja,” Irvine said in a sarcastic tone. “Are you saying I’m not worth looking at with a beard?”

He wrinkled his nose. “You’re not really old enough yet to need a beard.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment.”

“Beards are more for old men to cover up how badly they’re aging,” Kuja said. Irvine laughed.

“Don’t say that around some of the ranchers I know, or you might get shot at.”

“Men really are just as finicky as women, aren’t they?”

Irvine shrugged. “Maybe.” He paced over to the bed and sat on the edge. Kuja stood in front of him, bare hands touching at his face, a little smile on his lips. Irvine gazed up at the man, still bedecked in his feminine finery, so close and yet still so strangely out of reach. He cleared his throat.

“Kuja?”

“Yes, Irvine?” Kuja tipped his head to the side, subtly adoring smile still lingering on his face. 

“I know that this is going to sound a little presumptuous of me, but, well...”

“Hm? What is it?”

Irvine swallowed. “I’ve never seen you not dressed as a woman.”

Kuja blinked. “I don’t have any male clothes.”

“Well, what about seeing you without any clothes on at all?”

Kuja’s cheeks turned red, and he sucked in a slow, shaky breath. “Oh, you mean like that. Well, sure. Yeah. I guess I could do that for you.”

Irvine grinned at him. “I mean, you’ve been up close and personal with my privates, and I don’t even know what your neck looks like.”

“It’s a very attractive neck,” Kuja said coyly. “Most men can’t handle it.”

“I’d like to take my chances.”

Kuja stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. He removed the fur wrap from around his shoulders, followed by the shawl, and draped them both over the dressing table bench. His cheeks were pink when he turned back to Irvine.

“Mind you, this is just to see. I--we don’t have time for anything else right now. I have to start lunch in a little while.”

“Of course.”

He stared down at Irvine as his hands went to his neck, starting at the first cream colored button there and working down the line, one by one, all in a tantalizing line down to his middle.

“I hope you realize that you’ll have to help me out of some of this. And back into it. Quistis usually helps me get dressed in the mornings.”

“She knows about this?” he asked, voice soft. Kuja nodded.

“Yes, she does, though truthfully it was an accidental discovery on her part.” He smiled thinly as he worked his way out of the green calico, freeing his arms and wiggling his hips around a bit until he was able to pull the whole mess of green fabric off over his head. That went onto the bench as well, leaving Kuja a bit out of breath in his underthings. Irvine was puzzled, because he still maintained a feminine form even without the dress.

“What’s next?”

“Oh, let’s see...” He wiggled about and removed the tournure--the pillowy assemblage that formed the shape of the bustle on his backside. “Here, you can help with the petticoats.” Kuja had several of those residing at his hips. With the dress gone, Irvine could see that these were helping keep the illusion that his hips and shoulders weren’t too far off in proportion. Kuja worked off the first petticoat layer and set it aside, then moved closer, indicating the location of little ties and clasps. 

“Do all women wear all of this gear?” Irvine frowned briefly as he helped peel away another layer of petticoat. Kuja laughed softly.

“Aside from the fake breasts, yes, I think most of them do.”

“It seems like a lot of trouble,” Irvine said.

“It is,” Kuja said. He wiggled his hips as the last of the petticoats were removed. “I honestly think it’s more for the woman’s gratification than anything the man might get out of it. Goodness knows that I wouldn’t mind if women decided to just prance around the countryside in their chemises.” He smiled. “Though, I should imagine it would be quite cold during the winter months.”

Irvine couldn’t argue with that.

A silky, cream colored camisole came off next, exposing the corset and padding underneath. What looked like breasts while covered up by a few layers of clothing were in fact a pair of carefully bound padded pillows. Irvine was not about to ask how Kuja figured out the design on those, and watched as he undid a few ties and removed them.

The corset was made of a pale blue silk and lined in white, with a dainty little white bow on the front. It created a narrow line down to his waist, where it cinched in slightly before flaring back out to his hips. Irvine reached, pulling Kuja closer and ignoring the little flustered laugh that came from his companion.

“You like it?” Kuja asked.

“Why make it so fancy looking if no one is going to see it?”

“A valid question that I do not have a meaningful answer to.” Kuja turned around. “Unlace me?”

Irvine ran his fingers lightly down Kuja’s sides, feeling the hidden lines of whalebone underneath the silk. Kuja shivered slightly at the touch. “Does it hurt to wear it?”

“It’s not as tight as it looks,” Kuja said. He stretched his arms over his head and sighed. “Just part of the ensemble. You get used to it after awhile.” He grunted as his back popped. “Quistis likes to lace hers tighter. Thinks it makes her breasts look nicer.”

“I never looked.”

“Sure you did. Everyone does. I don’t mind--it distracts from my appearance.”

“I like your appearance.”

Kuja looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I know you do.”

He undid the bow on the silky white drawstring that was holding the corset in place. Kuja let out a soft sigh, and then lightly swatted Irvine’s hands away. The cowboy watched, curious, as Kuja loosened the laces and then pulled the whole thing off over his head. That hadn’t been what he had been expect, but Kuja seemed to know what he was doing. When the corset was gone, Irvine was presented with the long, smooth plane of Kuja’s back, flecked lightly with goosebumps from the chill air, running in a line down between the sides of his drawers. 

Irvine leaned in to the exposed skin on Kuja’s back and inhaled. That was it, he realized, that smell that he had not been able to place before. Beneath the roses and honeysuckle was the smell of Kuja himself. Hidden in plain sight, and strangely intoxicating. Kuja gasped and wiggled.

“Don’t do that, I’m a little ticklish!”

“Oh, you are?” Irvine huffed at his back again, running his fingertips down the other man’s sides. Kuja squeaked and darted away. He burst into laughter, a bright bubbling noise that Irvine had not heard from him before. It was not the usual restrained ladylike chuckle. It was bright and alive and it made Irvine’s heart hurt to hear it. Kuja turned, laughing again and shook a finger at him.

“No, don’t, don’t!” He laughed and flopped next to Irvine on the bed, gasping softly for breath. Irvine looked down at Kuja, pale amongst the dark blankets and bed covers, and smiled.

“You sound a lot like your brother, you know.”

“No, he sounds a lot like me,” Kuja said with a lazy smile. He kicked his feet and got back up, staring down at Irvine, a stray lock of hair falling into his face.

When Kuja was stripped down out of his outer fripperies, stripped down to just bare skin, gray woolen stockings, little black button up boots, and a pair of white cotton drawers, Irvine could scarcely believe that he’d ever been fooled into thinking that Kuja was a woman. He was a long-limbed, slenderly built man. His skin was pale, nearly white as his drawers due to years of lack of exposure to the sun. The white was marred by faint patches of pink and red along his chest and ribs--tender spots from where his corset had been busy working its illusions. The pink of a blush was spreading its way down from his collarbones, down the slim line of his chest, and out to the twin peachy-pink marks of his nipples. Much like his face, Kuja was not very hairy. The hair on his chest was fine and silvery and barely visible in the lamplight. Kuja stood bared like this, hands balled loosely at his sides. There was something charmingly defiant about his posture, Irvine thought, and it brought a smile to his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

“That’s all you ever say,” Kuja said.

“It’s always the truth.” He held out his hands. “Come here. I want to touch you.”

Kuja didn’t move at first, his blue eyes widening and the pink of the blush working its way up his neck and onto his cheeks. So he moved closer instead, resting his palms lightly on Kuja’s shoulders. He was careful, slow, gentle, as though the violet haired man were some wild horse. Kuja swallowed, tilting his head back slightly to keep his gaze on Irvine’s face. At this angle he could make out the lump of the Adam’s apple, there, but certainly not as pronounced as he had seen on some men. He watched Kuja’s face for a moment.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“A little,” Kuja said. His voice was soft, and the lowered volume caused it to slip back into his well-practiced female tone.

“It’s just me,” he said. “You can be yourself with me.” He rubbed his thumbs gently against the other man’s skin, strangely aware of how rough his own skin was in comparison. It felt as though if he touched Kuja too hard, he might tear something and ruin the perfect, pale image.

Kuja’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t really know who I am any more.” His lips screwed up into a frown for a moment. “Who you think I am is not who I was, or even who I was pretending to be.”

“I don’t really care, darlin’,” he said, and pulled Kuja down enough to press his lips gently against the frown. To his surprise, Kuja did not relent to the kiss. Instead he turned his face away with a soft huff. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not comfortable like this,” Kuja said.

“Are you cold?” His hands squeezed at Kuja’s shoulders, and the other man gasped softly.

“No, not really!” Kuja’s cheeks were a bright pink now. “I just--it’s not fair, is all. You’re wearing a lot more than I am. I’m not some woman you’ve paid for that you can do with as you please, you know.”

“I’m completely aware of that.” He leaned back. “Do you think that’s what I think of you?”

Kuja’s voice dropped again. “I think you still want me to be a woman. And okay, fine, outside of this room I have to keep the act up. But I’m not, Irvine.”

“I know.” He shook his head slightly. “I think you’ve been playing at this for so long that it’s starting to mess with your head.”

“Maybe.”

“When you were with Seifer, what was it like?”

Kuja frowned again. “I don’t really want to talk about him right now.”

“I know. That’s not what I was getting at, I’m sorry.” He released his grip on the other man. Kuja stepped away, going over to the basin and washing his face off. Irvine watched him, quiet, not sure what to say. He had gotten what he had wanted, hadn’t he? To see what Kuja really looked like. And now that he had--then what? He went to the foot of the bed and retrieved a neatly folded blue woolen blanket. He unfolded it, and draped it carefully over Kuja’s bare shoulders. Kuja sighed softly and pulled the cloth over his chest. He moved to the bed and sat, looking up at the cowboy. For a moment his eyes were unfocused, and his expression was distant, sad. Then he blinked and shook his head slowly.

“I suppose you could say that when I was with Seifer, he... made me his woman.”

“He... oh.” Irvine sat next to Kuja on the bed. “Was it bad? I mean, I’ve never done that before.”

Kuja shrugged. “Seifer was always a bit rough, even when I don’t think he meant to be.” He tilted his head. “We don’t have to do that, though.”

Irvine sighed. “Sex is a lot more straightforward when it’s a man and a woman, ain’t it.”

“In some ways.”

He looked at Kuja. “Though, have you ever... you know. Had sex with a woman?”

The pretty man looked offended for a moment. “Of course. It’s not your business with whom, but I haven’t always been like this.”

“Alright, sorry. I believe you. Didn’t mean to upset you.”

Kuja sighed. “Of course, that was a very long time ago. But, I still remember how it all works.”

He looked down at the half-dressed man, and a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered _Irvine Kinneas, what have you gotten yourself into_. He had to tell the little voice that he honestly had no real idea. What was it that he wanted from Kuja, or Kuja from him? Was it just a temporary indulgence, or something more long lasting? He could not answer those questions easily himself, and was not sure he wanted to press the other man for answers. Irvine had never been in any sort of serious relationship before, he had always been more the loner type of man. That was why being a chocobo cowboy had worked out so well for him the last few years. He had rarely been hit by a pang of loneliness, even when dozens of miles away from any other human beings. But, what about Kuja? As far as Irvine could discern, he was still getting over his failed relationship with Seifer Almasy, did he really want to get romantically entrenched with someone else?

Kuja leaned against him, pressing their shoulders together. “You know, you get this strange look in your eyes when you’re lost in thought.”

Irvine blinked. “I’m sorry. Were you saying something?”

“No. Just enjoying the company.” Kuja patted his thigh. “Disappointed in what you found under the dress?”

“Not at all. I told you, you’re beautiful. And I meant it.” He sighed. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Kuja said. He tilted his head, shifting his gaze to the little clock sitting on the fireplace mantle. “Well, about time to get back into character. I’ve got a full house of hungry men to make lunch for.”

“Did you want help?”

“Quistis will be in soon, and I’m sure Zidane is around somewhere.” Kuja smiled. “You can help me back into my dress, and that will be enough. And, join us for lunch, of course.”

Irvine smiled. “Of course.”

 

_End Chapter 9_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Murder and Arson

Quistis squealed with delight when she returned to the saloon and discovered Irvine leaning on the kitchen door frame. She hugged him and hugged him and cried a little, until Kuja coolly told her to calm down because it was time to make lunch.

“I read your letter eight times!” Quistis said as she washed her hands and tied on an apron.

“She read it out loud at least that many times,” Kuja said. “I would not be surprised if she has it under her pillow.”

Quistis giggled. “Don’t be silly, Miss Kuja. You know Mateus would be awfully sore if he thought I was sweet on someone else.”

Kuja huffed softly but did not reply.

“Well, you did make me promise to write you a letter,” Irvine said. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t send a pretty girl a letter?”

“You didn’t send Miss Kuja a letter,” she said.

“Yes, and I didn’t ask for one.” Kuja swatted at her with a dish towel. Quistis squeaked and meekly set to work, though she was still smiling.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

Kuja looked at him. “You’re determined to be underfoot, aren’t you?”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“It’s just potato stew and bread, I think we can handle it.” Kuja wiped his hands on his apron and went over to the doorway. He smiled and touched Irvine’s cheek. “If you’re really itching to do something, you can go outside to the wood pile and bring in enough to refill the stock by the stove out by the bar. I don’t need anyone fussing that their whiskey’s frozen tonight.”

Quistis laughed. “I don’t think it’s quite that cold out.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I can’t remember the last time it was this cold. It’s barely even snowed. How can you have Christmas without any snow, that isn’t decent.”

Irvine smiled. “I’ll fetch you some wood, Miss Kuja.”

 

Irvine was bringing in his second armful of wood when he was discovered by Zidane. The young man bounded after him, chattering excitedly.

“And Miss Ruby said she would come to the Christmas dance. And she said she was gonna dance with me! Irvine I think she really likes me.”

He chuckled. “You could just ask her if she does.”

“Oh, I can’t do that. Baku would stomp me into the dirt. And I’m still kind of afraid of him, you know.”

“Well, enjoy your dance with her.”

“She might even let me hold her hand a bit!”

Irvine grunted as he added the wood to the pile. “I didn’t know there was going to be a dance.”

“Can you dance, Mister Irvine?” Quistis’s voice lilted out of the kitchen door. Irvine took his had off and rubbed his hand along the top of his cold hair.

“Of course I can dance, Miss Quistis. What kind of self-respecting cowboy can’t at least manage a good polka and waltz and a fancy quadrille?”

“Kuja doesn’t like to go to the dances,” Zidane said. “Or if she does, she just sits at a table and drinks punch and refuses to dance with anyone.”

“Aw, but who am I going to dance with if I go?” Irvine grabbed Kuja by the hands and twirled him around once. Kuja blushed and pulled his hands free, swatting at Irvine’s arms.

“I’m not any good at dancing,” he said. “And I don’t like to draw all that much attention to myself.”

“She just doesn’t want to go because it’s being held in Mr. Palamecia’s mansion,” Quistis said.

“Ah, I see.”

“It could be in the middle of a frozen lake and I wouldn’t care,” Zidane said. “I’ve got to brush up on my dance steps, though.”

“Are you going to go to the dance, Mister Irvine?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Irvine said. He looked at Kuja’s back. “Maybe, if I can find someone to go with.”

 

After lunch was served and consumed, the dishes were cleaned and put away, a pot was started for the supper meal, and various other chores were done, Kuja made his way back to his bedroom with Irvine in tow.  
He set a blanket on the floor near the fireplace--not too near, of course--and they sat together. Kuja arranged his skirt carefully, took off his gloves, and held Irvine’s hands in his own.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Kuja said, his voice soft, still feminine. “You don’t mind sitting with me for a bit, do you?”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” he said and smiled. Kuja smiled back and leaned against his shoulder.

They sat in quiet for a few minutes, watching the low flame flicker and snap as it chewed its way through another log.

“I don’t have a Christmas present for you,” Kuja said.

“That’s alright. I don’t expect anything.”

“I suppose I still have a few days to figure something out.” He squeezed Irvine’s hands. “It’s Tuesday. Christmas isn’t until Monday.”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of gift does someone give a cowboy?”

Irvine smiled. “I don’t know. I haven’t been on many Christmas lists in the last few years. I’m usually out on a drive during the year, or working at one of the ranches when it’s too cold for moving chocobos. We don’t do too much at the ranch for Christmas. Sing some carols, drink a bit, things like that.”

“Do you have a good time?”

“I’ve never had any reason to complain.” He hummed a few bars of a carol. “Though, it’s a bit more fun when there’s snow.”

“It’s been too cold for snow so far.” He frowned. “I don’t like the winter. It makes me think of my mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She died of a fever during the winter when I was a boy. It was late January. There was a blizzard, and we couldn’t get any help for her.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just squeezed Kuja’s hand.

“I was only about twelve, then. Zidane was only four. I had to take care of Zidane. My father was always busy with business. He took care of us, financially, but that was about it. Had another woman he would go out and visit with. I couldn’t leave, couldn’t do anything except take care of Zidane. He was all I had.”

“I’m sure he appreciates it.”

“He wouldn’t know the difference,” Kuja murmured. “He doesn’t remember our mother. To him, it’s always just been me taking care of him.”

“Well, he’s lucky to have you.”

“I suppose so.” Kuja was quiet for a moment. Then he continued in a soft voice. “I remember her, my mother. She looked kind of like Zidane. Blonde hair, kind of short. Nice smile. Pretty. But, she was strong. I think it was because she grew up on a farm with a bunch of brothers. She had to be strong to keep up with them all.”

“Where were you from?”

Kuja hesitated. “New York. Not the city, though. A bit further inland.” He rubbed his thumb along the line of Irvine’s index finger. Irvine glanced at him, and found that Kuja’s eyes were slightly unfocused as he stared into the fireplace. “My mother taught me to be strong. One day, when I was just a little boy, I was walking along with her after we had gone to the market to get some supplies. I remember, she was pregnant with Zidane, then. She looked like she had a melon stuck up under her skirts.” He shifted his weight a bit. “We were walking along, and a man I did not know darted out from an alley and grabbed me. He thought I was a little girl since I hadn’t started wearing breeches yet, and was going to do something awful to me. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“There were always men about, strangers that would pass through on their way out west, that would grab young girls. Some were never seen again. But, not me. I shrieked and my mother picked up a broom from a stoop we were passing by, and hit the man until he let me go and ran off.” Kuja smiled. “Afterwards, she made sure I was okay, and told me that I had to be careful. That I had to be strong, because if I wasn’t then people would hurt me, because of how I looked.” He bit his lower lip.

“People gave you trouble, because you were pretty?”

“A bit. When I was in school, mostly. The other boys would tease me and pick on me and want to know why I wasn’t wearing a skirt like all the other girls.” Kuja shook his head slightly. “If they could only see me now.”

“Is that how you ended up.... you know.”

“In the position I’m in now?”

He gave a short laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“No, not exactly. That was... that happened later.” He murmured. “I still I might still be too sober for such talk.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

Kuja snorted indelicately. “Of course it can be that bad, cowboy. Do you really think I would have spent the last decade pretending to be a woman out in the middle of nowhere if it weren’t that bad?”

He considered the other man’s question. “I suppose you have a point.” He bumped his shoulder against Kuja’s. “You don’t have to feel obliged to tell me.”

“I know.” He chewed on his lower lip again. “But, maybe it would be nice to tell the story to someone. No one knows, really knows, except for me and Zidane.”

“Quistis?”

“She found out I was a man on accident a few years ago. Came bursting into my room upset about something awful some boy had said to her, only to find me only half dressed.” He chuckled softly. “She took it fairly well, over all. I think she’s kept the secret, at least.”

“If I may ask, why do they still call you ‘she’ when they both know you’re a man?”

“It’s just part of the act,” Kuja said. “It’s easier to not slip up in front of someone who doesn’t know if you’re in the habit of just always stating the lie as the truth. Seifer was the same way, he never referred to me as a man, either.”

“Do you think you’ll always be like this?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I wonder that myself, now and then.” Kuja shifted his weight again and got to his feet. “Here, wait a minute.”

Puzzled, Irvine watched as Kuja hurried out of his bedroom. He returned a few minutes later, a large glass full of whiskey in hand. The pretty man downed the glass with ease, grimaced, and then swore under his breath.

“There. I think that’s good enough.”

“Kuja, you don’t have to do this.”

“No.” Kuja set the empty glass on the fireplace mantle and sat back down next to Irvine. “I need to tell someone, Irvine. I never even told Seifer, and I loved him.” He coughed and wiped at the corner of his mouth. 

“And I would rather confess my sins to you, rather than Seymour.”

“Why me?”

“Because I like you. I trust you. And Seymour is...is... not someone I want to talk to about this.”

“Alright. If you insist.”

Kuja nodded. He rested his weight against Irvine’s shoulder again and sighed. “Have you ever shot a man?” Kuja’s question sounded unusually casual. 

Irvine hesitated as he considered his answer. “Never anyone that didn’t have it coming.”

“Mm.” Kuja picked at his skirt. “This all started a bit over ten years ago. But, really it was a bit before that.” He covered his mouth with his hand and belched.

“That was a lot of whiskey at once, Kuja.”

“Mm-hmm.” Kuja was quiet again for a moment. “The war started back in the 60s. We were in New York, out of the way of most of the fighting, but men would leave town. A lot of them never came back. My father was busy with his business interests, and I mostly just stayed home and kept the house and watched after Zidane. But, toward the last year of the war I was almost seventeen, and they pressed me into service. I didn’t want to go, didn’t want to leave Zidane alone. But I went. I was a cannoneer. Assigned to a _canon obusier_ , one of those 12-pound Napoleon howitzers. Fired a shot that would just... tear people apart. It was amazing. It was horrible. I was fortunate enough to only have to serve for about ten months before I was in my last battle. Then Lee surrendered in April, and by the end of May I had been sent back home.” Kuja scratched at his chin.

“I was still a kid in California then,” Irvine said softly. Kuja nodded.

“Consider yourself lucky, cowboy. I was a mess after I got back home. My father had turned into a drunkard while I was away. Zidane was always crying because my father kept beating him. I couldn’t deal with it all. Kept having nightmares. So I started drinking, too, though not as much as my father. I slept around some, drank some...” He snorted. “Hell, I suppose I might have a few unclaimed brats running around New York. Who’s to know?”

“They’re probably alright, if they exist.”

“I hope so.” Kuja sighed. “I could barely keep any kind of job then. The only thing I was any good at was pouring drinks at a bar in the next town over. So I did that. Slept with the owner’s daughter. Got fired.” He shrugged.

“I would never have guessed, from looking at you.”

“Mm, I know. I make too lovely a lady to have been such a rake. But, I was young and foolish, then.” Kuja was quiet again, a frown playing at the edge of his features. “And then, one night I came home, and happened upon my father in the midst of beating my little brother. I yelled at him to stop. Zidane was on the floor and he was crying and--” Kuja stopped, inhaling shakily. Irvine remained silent. “I fought with him. Told him to stop hitting Zidane, he was just a stupid little kid and hadn’t done anything wrong. We argued. I lost my temper. I lost it and went into my father’s office, and took the pistol from the bottom drawer of his desk, and then I went back into the sitting room and shot him in the face.”

Irvine tilted his head to look at Kuja. The other man’s beautiful face was contorted slightly, and his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

“I shot him in the goddamn face. Just once. He fell down dead.” Kuja snorted. “It was strange. After the gun went off, the fog in my head lifted completely. I felt better than I had since before going off to war. But, of course, I had still just shot my father dead in our own home, so that was a problem. No matter how good a reason I might have had for doing it, no judge would have let me go. Patricide!--I would have been hanging from a tree before my father was even buried, he was a respected man in the area.” Kuja sniffed, and his voice dropped to a thin noise. “But I had to do it. I couldn’t let him keep hurting Zidane like that. Zidane was all I had.” Kuja quieted again and sniffed and wiped at his eyes. Irvine wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure there was anything he _could_ say. Eventually, Kuja continued.

“The police came to the door after a little while, because someone had reported hearing a shot. I was sweet and charming and convinced the officer that it was just myself and Zidane home and that my father had gone out for the night. He believed me and went on his way. Didn’t notice the burn marks on my hand or the fact that I still had blood on me. Not the pride of the local force, I’m sure.” He wiped at the corner of his mouth again. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I decided that we would run away. It’s a big country, you know? If we ran far enough, then perhaps no one would come looking for me, to ask about my father being shot dead in the sitting room.”

“Well, if it was that or death...”

Kuja huffed a faint laugh. “Yes, that was my reasoning as well. So I washed up, changed my clothes. Got the blood off of me. Then I gathered a suitcase together. Clothes for myself and Zidane, things like that. A few valuables to pawn later on if we needed money. I looted what money I could from the house, and packed a lunch. Zidane was quiet the whole time. I had told him to go to his room, and he had, because he was a good little boy and always listened to me.” Kuja turned his hands over in his lap and looked at them. “I still remember taking my little brother by the hand and telling him to hold onto the suitcase. And he asked where we were going, what was going on? And I told him, ‘Papa is dead. And now, we are dead too.’ And of course, he didn’t understand and he cried. But he held onto the suitcase like a good little boy and we went away. And as we left, I knocked over all the lamps in the house and set it ablaze. Zidane and I walked to the next town, and waited for the train heading west. Zidane was very quiet, and I suppose he was thinking it all over. It wasn’t really fair to him to have to think about it, he was only eleven. No one stopped us or asked what we were doing.”

Irvine just nodded.

“And as for me dressing like a woman? It was actually surprisingly easy to make the switch,” Kuja said, something rueful in his tone. “I was only eighteen, it was a few months before my next birthday, and I was still quite fresh in the face. I hadn’t grown a beard yet. It was... it was Zidane’s idea, really. His quick thinking, the little monkey. We were on a train headed west, and I was dozing because the whole ordeal had left me feeling a touch ill. And one of the other riders was concerned, and Zidane, he...” He laughed softly. “He said, ‘Please madame, but my sister and I are orphans. She is pretending to be my big brother so that we are not separated’ And the other passenger, she didn’t even question it, and felt so bad for us that she gave us some money to help us along.” Kuja shook his head. “It shouldn’t have been that easy. Someone should have questioned it. I guess I was just meant to play this part.”

“And now you’re stuck in it,” Irvine said. Kuja nodded.

“Do you hate me now?”

“No,” he said. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really.”

“I imagine that if there was a proper inquiry back home about my father’s death, or the house burning down, then I suppose I might have a wanted poster there.”

“That’s why you’re pretending to be a woman,” Irvine said. Kuja nodded again.

“It’s why I’ve kept the ruse going, yes. It hasn’t been that difficult, aside from men out here being desperate for any sort of woman they can find.”

“So, you were already pretending to be a woman by the time you got to Devil’s Ambition.”

“Yes. It was actually a few months before we ever got this far west. We got to Chicago first, and played at the poor orphans again, and I got my first dress from a shop. The tailor said not to be ashamed that I hadn’t grown any breasts yet, some flowers bloom later than others.” He snorted. “We made our way slowly west. I worked on playing a girl, learning the mannerisms and things like that. Let my hair grow out.”

“I can scarcely imagine you with short hair.”

“I was quite the handsome lad,” Kuja said. “Well, pretty lad.”

“I would think so.”

“We reached the Colorado territory and the town of Denver in 1866. It was already a bit too crowded for my comfort. Too many people around that might figure me out. I heard about a little town nearby being built up for the chocobo ranchers, and so Zidane and I set out to Devil’s Ambition. It was raining that day. Not the most impressive sight--the town isn’t much now, but it was even less a decade ago. They’d only been building it up for the last year or two. There was just the mayor’s house and the hotel and a few other little buildings. The man who ran the hotel was a horrible letch who, like everyone else, was in debt to Mateus Palamecia. Mateus and his best friend and business partner owned the two biggest ranches around here. I got a job as a maid in the mayor’s house, and Zidane and I lived in a little room up on the third floor. It may not have been the best decision I ever made, on my part. Slightly below shooting my father in the face. Mateus was infatuated with me almost as soon as I walked in the door inquiring about work.”

“Oh dear.”

“Mateus had never met a person, male or female, that he couldn’t buy. Most people will cave to even the most obscene demands for enough money. Mateus really, really wanted me. Or at least, the beautiful woman that he thought I was. He found it frustrating that no amount of money or expensive trinket could get him under my skirt.” Kuja frowned. “It made him a little violent at times. When I threatened to leave, he would back down for a few weeks. Eventually, the owner of the hotel died. The property belonged to Mateus. He asked if I would like to have it, I said yes, but that I wasn’t going to give him what he wanted for it. So he gave it to me anyway, under the condition that I had to pay it back off to him, either with twice as much money as the place was actually worth, or my body.”

“Hence you hating him.”

“It didn’t really help. He was distracted after that for awhile with his falling out with Quistis’s father. And I... worked hard. The hotel and saloon made better business under its new management, and after a few years I was able to settle my debts with Mateus.” Kuja sighed. “I’m sure he would still like to fuck me, but that’s past now that he’s moved on to younger pastures.”

“Quistis, you mean.”

“My dear little Quistis,” Kuja said and sighed heavily. “She seems to actually like him, though. I won’t let her go to his home unsupervised, so he has been coming over here in the afternoons. They sit at one of the tables and read together. If I didn’t have a lingering desire to shoot him, I would almost find him genteel with her.”

“Do you think he’ll ask for her hand?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain of it. She turned eighteen in October, and he’s been over here almost daily since then.” Kuja tipped his head back to look at the clock. “I’d be surprised if he isn’t here already.” He rubbed at his nose. “That’s well enough. I think that’s all the horrible story you’re going to get out of that glass of whiskey.” Kuja looked at Irvine, a subtle wariness in his gaze. 

“You think I’m going to leave, because you told me about what happened to your father.”

“I would not be surprised,” he said. “And I would not hold it against you. But I thought... if you did stay, it would be better for you to know now, rather than some time in the future.”

“Why tell me at all?”

“Because you seem like the noble sort of man that should not have such grisly secrets kept from him.” Kuja got to his feet, wobbling a bit for a moment before covering his mouth and belching again. “Dear me, remind me not to do that again. I think I might go out and vomit.”

Irvine got up as well, and lightly touched Kuja’s sleeve. “Kuja, do you remember what I said before? During the summer. We don’t get to choose our parents. You couldn’t choose your father being a horrible drunk any more than I could choose my mother being a loveless prostitute.”

“It sounds nice and reasonable when you put it like that. But, it doesn’t change what I did.”

“You and your brother have been living as different people since then. Perhaps what you told him when you ran away was true. Perhaps the man who killed his father has been dead for ten years, too.”

“This path I have chosen--” Kuja picked at the lacy edge of his sleeve. “It feels like a punishment sometimes. But I think I would still be tried and executed, all the same. So I am, as you said, stuck like this.”

“Are you happy?”

Kuja wobbled a bit and hooked his hand in the crook of Irvine’s elbow. “Aside from the corset, it isn’t really all that bad. I can get away with a lot as a woman and men just see me as being cheeky, rather than an arsehole.” He sighed and squeezed at Irvine’s arm. “I guess that just means, if I’m stuck like this, are you willing to stick with me as I am? Or will you be gone when the weather warms up?”

Irvine did not have an answer to that question, even though it was one he had been pondering himself. He squeezed Kuja’s hand with his arm. “I don’t quite know yet, to be honest.”

“I won’t press you. I’m not in a rush, after all. It isn’t like I’m going anywhere. Devil’s Ambition is my home.”

 

They went out into the saloon. Kuja carried out his empty glass and took it to the little basin out of sight behind the bar for storing the dirtied glasses. Irvine glanced around the saloon as he put his hat on. Much as Kuja had guessed, there were two figures seated at the table closest to the front windows. The afternoon sunlight streaming through onto the pair looked warm despite the frigid temperatures outside. Mateus Palamecia had a book open in front of him on the table, right hand holding the pages down. Quistis was seated adjacent to him, her fingertips just barely brushing his on the table top. They were talking in very soft voices together as Irvine approached. He had to nearly stomp his boots on the floor to break the pair’s focus on each other.

“Oh, hello Mister Irvine! How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine, Miss Quistis. Was enjoying a little nap after lunch.”

She smiled and gestured to the mayor. “Mr. Palamecia was telling me about some new books he received on loan from a friend in Denver. We were deciding on what to read next.”

“Sounds like a good time. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“Did you do all your chores yet, Quistis?” Kuja’s voice rang out through the saloon. He was still giving the mayor a wide berth.

“Yes, Miss Kuja,” Quistis called back. Kuja just muttered under his breath and returned to the kitchen.

“So, what do you two like to read?”

“Fiction, most of the time. But last month we read a book by Thoreau. I’m not sure why Mat--er, Mr. Palamecia picked it though. It was about casting aside wealth and finding happiness in nature.”

“In the spring and summer of my life, I have grown my wealth,” the mayor said. There was something coy to his tone. “And I would like to find happiness before the fall comes.”

“I suppose there’s nothing wrong with having both wealth and happiness,” Irvine said.

“Indeed,” the mayor said. “Perhaps next year I will start a little garden in the yard. Flowers and a fruit tree, something like that.” He looked at Quistis. “What sort of flowers do you suppose I could grow?”

“Roses and honeysuckle,” Irvine said to himself.

“Hmm?” The mayor glanced at him.

“Oh, nothing. I’ll leave you two to your literature.” He touched the brim of his hat and made his way back to the kitchen. Kuja was standing in front of the cooking stove. Irvine crept up behind him and gently rested his hands on Kuja’s petticoat covered hips. The other man’s back jerked slightly, but then he sighed. “You back in here already?”

“I have to get started on bread for dinner,” he said.

“I can keep you company, if you’d like,” Irvine said. “Besides, it’s nice and warm in here.”

After a moment, Irvine felt the weight of the other man press against him, almost imperceptibly. “It is nice and warm in here, yes.”

 

_End Chapter 10_


	11. Sweet Dreams

Chapter 11: Sweet Dreams

That night was a bit peculiar for the cowboy. As he had always been something of a loner, and had usually been one for the softer comforts of female company, Irvine had to say with a certainty that he had never shared a bed with a man before. But, as he had accepted Kuja’s quite brazen invitation to stay in his room, Irvine found himself standing next to the other man’s blanket laden bed when it came time to sleep.

“Are you sure this is alright? I mean, won’t people in the town talk? I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.” He stood in his long johns and sock feet, watching as Kuja carefully put away his petticoats and padding. Even as he went to bed, Kuja maintained his act, wearing a gray woolen gown over his wool stockings and leggings and drawers and everything else. Irvine had to admit that he looked quite warm and cozy, enviably so in this cold weather. Kuja was seated at his dressing table now, carefully brushing out his long shimmering hair.

“I’m sure they already talk about me, cowboy.” Kuja smiled. “Are you sure it’s not your own reputation that you’re concerned about?”

He huffed a laugh. “Hell, I’m a cowboy. That’s already bad enough for my reputation.” He moved over to where Kuja was seated. “Could I?”

Kuja paused, and then held the brush over his shoulder. “Don’t be rough.”

“I won’t.” Irvine carefully ran the brush through the other man’s hair, delighting privately in the way the silk strands worked around his fingers. Kuja smiled.

“Your hair is nearly as long as my own, Irvine. I fail to see what the novelty is.”

“Mine ain’t such a lovely color.”

“I like your hair,” he said in a murmur. “In the places where the sun has lightened it, it looks like your hair is made of copper. Like a shiny new penny.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Irvine said, but did stop to look at his own hair.

“It’s a pity neither of us is a woman, cowboy,” Kuja said in a coy tone. “We could have had beautiful children.”

“You think so?”

“Of course.” Kuja stifled a yawn behind his hand. “But, I have already raised two children. I don’t care to raise any more in this lifetime.”

“Why did you take in Quistis, anyways? Didn’t she have any other family?”

“None anywhere near here,” he said. “None that cared to send for her. And I couldn’t in good conscience leave her with her father any more than I could leave Zidane with our father.”

“He a violent drunk, too?”

“Violent drunk, violent sober. Bad man. He wasn’t that bad when I first met him. A bit peculiar, perhaps, but not the way he is now. His wife was a good woman. I couldn’t leave their little girl around such a horrible man.”

“I don’t think I’ve met him. What’s his name?”

“Kefka Palazzo,” Kuja said. “He’s banned from entering town, like the rest of his gang. Though, he seems to be the only one content to abide by Squall’s rules. I think he just doesn’t want to deal with Mateus or any of his guards.”

“One of them’s an Indian, right?”

“Bit Indian, bit Mexican, bit white. I’ve heard Mateus call him his favorite mutt.”

“Charming.”

“I think his Indian name is ‘Silver Cougar’ or ‘Old Silver Fur’ or something like that, but he goes by his white name. Mateus told me that he was raised as white as you or I.” Kuja shrugged. “I haven’t dealt much with the man. He rarely seems to leave Mateus’s proximity. Even when he comes over to court Quistis, Mr. Ansem is skulking outside the front door in the cold with his gun.”

“I guess the mayor must pay him well.”

“I suppose so.” Kuja retrieved the brush and set it on the dressing table. He worked his hair into a loose braid and tied it off with a sliver of red ribbon. He smiled as Irvine picked up the end of the braid and tickled his nose with it. “Are you ready for bed?”

“I could probably sleep on the floor right here and not complain at this point.”

Kuja chuckled and stood. He brushed his hands down his flat front. “There’s no need for that. You are... welcome in my bed, Irvine.”

Irvine could feel the heat of a blush on his cheeks, and hoped that the other man did not notice it. Kuja went to one of side of the bed and pulled the covers back. Irvine counted at least three layers of blankets, though there might have been more.

“I’ve never shared a bed with another man before,” Irvine said. Kuja glanced up at him and smiled.

“There’s really not much to it,” he said. “You just lie on the mattress and pull the blankets over you and go to sleep.” He patted the mattress. “It’s just like sleeping by yourself, except there’s another person.”

“I can’t tell if you’re mocking me or not.” Irvine sat on the bed and then scooted in a bit, drawing up his legs and tucking them under the blankets. Kuja turned down the lamps that lit the room, until the only light remaining was from the fireplace. Then he returned to the bed and sat next to Irvine.

“The first time Zidane had to sleep by himself, he cried and said he didn’t know how to sleep by himself. And I had to tell him pretty much the same thing.”

“So, I’ve been elevated to the level of your kid brother. I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

Kuja settled on the mattress, pulling a few blankets up over them. “It’s a compliment, really.”

Irvine squinted at him in the dim light. “I hadn’t thought to ask before. How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” he said. “You?”

“Turned twenty-four last month.” Irvine grinned. “I’ve always liked older women.”

Kuja grunted. “We do have more experience.” He closed his eyes. “Good night, Irvine.”

“Good night, Kuja.”

 

Irvine awoke a few hours later. The room was nearly dark now. The fires in the fireplace had all but gone out, and the air that touched his face as he lifted it from the mattress was cold. The rest of him was quite warm, though, cocooned snugly under several blankets. He was also quite warm at his backside, and it took his sleepy brain a moment to realize that this was because the other occupant of the bed was pressed against him. His arms were tucked in and pressed against Irvine’s backside, and his face was resting against the back of his shoulder. And lower, there was definitely something else pressing against him. Embarrassed, Irvine cursed under his breath and wiggled out from underneath the blankets. He padded across the cold floor over to the fireplace. He was careful as he moved the fire grate, trying not to make any noise that would disturb Kuja. He gingerly moved some of the old ashes aside and added another log to the fire. When he was satisfied that it had lit properly, he replaced the grate and went back to the bed.

The dim light of the fire was gleaming on Kuja’s open eyes.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Irvine said. Kuja made a sleepy noise, shifting his weight slightly under the covers.

“It got cold when you left,” he mumbled. Irvine hurriedly got back underneath the warm pile of blankets, and like an overgrown housecat, Kuja moved to press against him again.

“That better?”

“Yes,” was the soft reply. Kuja’s hand came to rest on Irvine’s stomach. “You know, middle of the night is one of my favorite times for sex.”

Irvine swallowed. “I did not know that.”

“But, it’s too cold for that tonight.” He sighed softly. “Besides, the dress gets in the way of asking you to touch me.”

“Maybe in the morning?”

“Maybe.” Kuja’s hand moved a bit lower, his fingertips brushing along the edge of Irvine’s long johns. “I could touch you, if you want.”

“You don’t have to trouble yourself.”

Kuja chuckled. “Part of why this is the best time for sex is because I always sleep like the dead afterwards.”

“Oh.” Irvine considered this. “You could, if you wanted to.”

Kuja’s fingers had already moved underneath the shirt of his thermals, and were teasing lightly at the hair that ran from below his navel and down to his groin. Irvine closed his eyes, shivering a bit as the other man’s hand moved lower.

“You know, Irvine, I thought you a handsome man the first time I laid eyes on you.”

“I thought you seemed irritated with me.”

“I probably was.” Kuja chuckled. “I’d been putting up with Ardyn practicing new flirts on me earlier that day. But you were definitely handsome. Got me a bit hot just looking at you. That was why I had Zidane take you to your room. I might have been too tempted to do something indecent.”

“You? Indecent? I would never have guessed.” Irvine’s breath caught in his throat as Kuja’s fingers teased along the underside of his cock. He shifted his weight enough to be half facing the other man in the dark, and rested his hand on the rise of Kuja’s hip. The other man adjusted his grip, not stroking him, just holding him lightly, thumb brushing back and forth over the tip of his cock. Irvine moved his hand down, over Kuja’s thigh, to the little valley formed in the fabric of his dress, and then up to the junction of his thighs. Kuja gasped softly as his hand brushed over the hardness hidden there.

“Wait!” he said breathily, and withdrew his hand. Irvine was disappointed, then surprised as Kuja began to squirm about. He realized the other man was hiking up the fabric of his dress, until it was bunched up around his hips and stomach. “Please, Irvine.”

Irvine returned his hand to his partner’s now partially exposed groin. It was much easier now to feel his way between the flaps of his drawers and find the warmth of Kuja’s cock. The older man gasped softly at the contact, and his own hand returned to touch Irvine. They lay together in the near dark, learning the feeling of each other. Kuja leaned in closer and kissed him. Irvine felt almost overwhelmed by the everything--the warmth of Kuja’s lips against his own, the gentle stroke of his fingers, the hot pulse of his cock in Irvine’s hand--and shivered again.

“It’s good!” he whispered between kisses. He could feel Kuja’s lips pull into a smile.

“Yes, dear, it’s very good.”

 

When Irvine woke again, cold morning sunlight was streaming in around the edge of the curtains in Kuja’s room. He had slept very well, just as Kuja had promised. For a moment his brain struggled with the memory, and he wasn’t quite sure if his intimate encounter with the beautiful man had been a dream or not. There was a soft noise of protest next to him as he shifted his weight to look around. Kuja looked far more disheveled than Irvine could recall seeing him before, and the skirt of his sleeping dress was still hiked up slightly past his knees. Oh. No, definitely not a dream, then. Irvine supposed he preferred it that way.

Kuja’s voice was deep and thick: “Go back to sleep.”

Irvine rubbed at his eyes. “What about breakfast?”

“Overrated.” Kuja grumbled and pressed his face into the mattress.

“I had no idea you weren’t a morning person,” Irvine said.

“Why are you?”

“I don’t think I am. I just got used to sleeping outside and waking up with the sun.”

“Well, you’re in my bed now, you don’t have to get up yet.”

Irvine settled back down and looked at Kuja. He smiled and brushed his fingers through the other man’s hair.

“I slept well.”

Kuja grunted in acknowledgement, before turning his face to look at Irvine. “You aren’t going to go back to sleep, are you.”

“No, probably not.”

He heaved a sigh. “Kiss me, then, that I might wake up like a princess.”

Irvine chuckled and did as he was asked, pressing his lips gently to Kuja’s. The older man returned the kiss, moving a hand to catch the back of Irvine’s head and hold him close.

“I think I could like waking up like this,” he murmured. “Even if it is far too early.”

There was a gentle knocking on Kuja’s bedroom door.

“Miss Kuja, are you awake? Did you need help with dressing?” Quistis’s ever-pleasant voice came through the door. Kuja cleared his throat.

“No, sweetheart, I think I’ll be fine this morning. Why don’t you get a pot of water started for breakfast? And see if the bread from last night isn’t frozen solid.”

“Alright, Miss Kuja.”

“You’ve got her well trained,” Irvine said. Kuja smiled.

“Yes, though I’m not sure what I’ll do once she leaves me. I suppose I’ll have to start getting up early and cooking breakfast like a proper woman.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure you know what you’re saying.”

Kuja yawned and stiffly sat up. He stretched his slender arms over his head and arched his back until it popped. “I suppose I could use a real man to help out around here, and not just my kid brother.”

“I’m not much older than Zidane is.”

“I know, but he’ll always be a kid to me, I think. Even if he ever gets around to having his own.” Kuja wiggled his way out from under the warm pile of blankets. “I don’t see why we can’t just spend most of the day in bed during the winter. Nice and warm, just like the bears do.”

“Your beauty would be lost on a bear.” Irvine slipped out of bed as well. He regretted it immediately, as the air was far cooler than the bed had been. He went over to the wash basin as Kuja straightened up the bed.

“I wouldn’t make you do anything too terrible. Just, you know... Chop firewood, haul water, defend my honor. Manly things.”

Irvine splashed his face with the water in the basin. He winced as it bit at his skin. “We should move the basin closer to the fireplace during the winter.” He looked over his shoulder. “And, I’m sure you’re quite capable of defending your honor on your own.”

Kuja smiled impishly. “Yes, but it’s more fun when I can get someone else to do it for me.”

“Well, if I can be of use, then I suppose...” He rubbed at his cheeks and looked at Kuja. “Do you, um... nevermind.”

“Hm? What is it?” Kuja smoothed the last of the blankets into place and then made his way over to the basin.

“Nothing, just me being a bit sentimental.”

“It might be too early in the morning for sentiment.” Kuja went to the windows and pulled back their heavy curtains, letting in the morning sunlight. Irvine watched him, smiling as the bright morning rays danced through the other man’s silvery hair.

“You really are beautiful,” he murmured. “I’m not sure I deserve you.”

“I think I should be the judge of that.”

“And?”

Kuja shrugged. “You give a decent middle of the night tug.”

Irvine laughed. “Glad to hear I’m good for something that useful.” He pulled his grooming kit from his pack and picked up the comb. Kuja turned away from the windows, and Irvine could feel the other man’s gaze on him as he combed out his hair.

“You could stay longer, if you wanted to.” Kuja dusted his hands over his narrow hips. “I mean, I know you’ve just stopped here for the time being because it’s too cold to go back to Texas. But, it could be nice if you stayed longer. I’m sure we could find work for you to do around town so you wouldn’t get bored.”

Irvine paused and looked dumbly at the comb in his hand. “Is that what you would want?”

“I don’t know quite yet. It might be nice, but I don’t know. We don’t really know each other all that well, do we? I mean, what would you want?”

“I don’t know yet myself, to be honest.” He continued running the comb through his hair. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about, but I’m not sure.”

Kuja smiled softly. “You’ve been thinking about staying?”

“Well, sure. I ain’t met a drifter yet that didn’t want a place to call home, deep down. I suppose I’m no different. But, you and me? I don’t know, are we going to be a...” He trailed off at the sound of a soft sigh from Kuja. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said nothing to apologize for, Irvine. I would not be surprised if a man did not want to get himself more rigorously attached to a person like me. You’ll never have children or a proper married life or anything like that. You would always have to be taking part in my lie.” Kuja frowned. “I suppose that was part of what drove Seifer away. That and boredom. He never did like being a bartender all that much.”

“A bartender?”

“Yes. Before I hired Rude. Seifer first came to this area about six years ago now. Just came drifting through, all stance and attitude and good looks. I hired him on as a bartender. We hit it off slowly, after a few years. You know the rest, mostly.”

“I see.” He set the comb down. “I don’t want to be cruel and get your hopes up, so I won’t say anything yay or nay right now, if that’s alright with you.”

“I think it is.”

“And if you get tired of waiting for me to make my mind up, then just let me know.”

Kuja nodded. “I think I can manage that.” He smiled. “You’re still welcome to stay here until then, though.”

Irvine returned the smile. “Good. I wasn’t all that keen on having to sleep in the stables.”

_End Chapter 11_


	12. Leonhart and Lace

Chapter 12: Leonhart and Lace

Irvine found the town a curious place during the winter. Perhaps it was just because it was so close to Christmas, but the town was bustling with people who had come in from the local ranches and farms. Every home had its visitors, and even the saloon was busier than normal. Despite Kuja’s rather flippant dismissal of his offer to help out, Irvine was frequently sent out into the cold to collect water and firewood and make runs over to the general store. He spent almost all of Thursday morning riding back over to Denver to pick up some cooking supplies Kuja needed that the town general store had run out of due to the holiday season. Irvine hadn’t minded entirely--once he had thawed out after his return he had been rewarded by a quick bit of friskiness from Kuja in the bedroom. But, most of the time it was just lugging heavy things about. Get more wood, get more water, move this very heavy pot for me, won’t you dear? Irvine didn’t mind. Feeling at least a little useful made him less restless overall.

On Friday morning he was sent out by Kuja to deliver some baked holiday goodies to a few of the ranches in the area. There was a wooden storage box outside the back door of the saloon’s kitchen, secured with a padlock to keep the curious out. From the amount of cookies and cakes and other treats stashed away in the boxed--all frozen due to the cold--Irvine could only guess at how long Kuja had been busy baking before Irvine had returned to Devil’s Ambition. It had to have been for at least a week or two. Irvine didn’t mind. It made the kitchen and saloon smell of fruit and sugar and other delicious things.

It was nearly lunch time when Irvine got back to the Desert Palace. He was surprised to find two figures standing outside the front door of the saloon. One was easily recognizable as the petit form of the sheriff. The other was a twitchy looking blond man, even shorter than the sheriff, whom Irvine had only met in passing during the summer. He stopped and tipped his hat at the men, tapping a bit of frozen mud off his boot heels on the front steps.

“Good morning, Sheriff Leonhart, Deputy Dincht. I didn’t expect to see you here when I returned from my errands.”

“Good morning, Mister...ah...” The little blond deputy stopped and scratched at his chin.

“Mr. Kinneas, wasn’t it? You stayed here in town during the summer.” The sheriff’s face was as neutral as ever.

“Yes, that’s right.” Irvine gestured at the front door. “Everything all right? Miss Kuja isn’t getting herself into trouble, is she?”

“No more than usual,” the deputy said, but shrunk back a bit at a side look from his superior.

“Zell, why don’t you go back to the office and make sure the fire in the stove hasn’t gone out.”

“Uh, yes sir. Of course.” He nodded to Irvine. “Have a good day!”

Irvine watched the deputy hurry off down the street. “I’m surprised there’s need for more than just you in this town. It seems so quiet.”

“It usually is,” the sheriff said. He looked at Irvine, the brim of his hat shadowing his face but doing nothing to hide the scar running diagonally down his nose. 

“Zidane isn’t in trouble is he?”

“No,” he said. “He has been behaving lately. Mostly.”

“That’s good.”

“I don’t know how long you plan on staying here in Devil’s Ambition, Mr. Kinneas,” the sheriff said, tipping his head back to look up at Irvine. “But I would hope you would behave as well. Especially over Christmas. I hate having to work more on the holiday than necessary.”

“I will do my best, sir. You’ll barely I know I was here.”

Sheriff Leonhart squinted at him for a moment. The corner of his mouth pinched, as though he were considering asking a question. “I’d warn you against any kind of impropriety with Miss Kuja, but a soiled dove like herself is probably glad for any company.”

“That’s between Miss Kuja and myself.”

“Hm.” The sheriff tipped his hat and headed off in the direction of the sheriff’s office. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Irvine watched the man walk away, bowing his head against a cold snarl of wind that raced its way down the main street. He tapped off his boots again and went inside. In the saloon the air was cool, but still arguably warmer than outside. He took off his soft leather gloves and rubbed at his cheeks. The saloon itself was empty and quiet aside from the crackle of the fire in the stove. He made his way to the kitchen. 

“Ah, there you are. I was hoping you would be back soon.” Kuja was in the kitchen, peering into a small sack with a thoughtful look on his face.

“You were? And, why is that?”

Kuja smiled coyly and rounded the work table. “Because I needed a kiss from a handsome cowboy, that’s why.” He pulled Irvine down for a quick kiss, and then clucked his tongue. “You’re nearly frozen solid! Why don’t you sit there by the fire for a few minutes.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He stuffed his gloves into the pockets of his coat and grunted softly as he sat on the little wooden stool next to the big cooking fireplace. It was nice and warm. “I ran into the sheriff outside when I got back. You aren’t getting into trouble, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Kuja shook his head and indicated the sack. “He was dropping off some dried apples his wife wanted me to have for Christmas. Five pounds!” He patted the bag. “I think if I stretch the sugar and raisins I have left, I can probably get three pies out of this.”

“Sounds good,” Irvine said with a lazy smile. “Do you make a good apple pie, Miss Kuja?”

“I make a horrible pie,” Kuja said coyly. “But no one ever complains.”

“Nonsense, I’ve yet to taste anything that you made that I would describe as horrible.”

“You’re far too generous.”

Irvine winked. “Not at all, darlin.” He took off his hat and rubbed at his scalp. “Hey, Kuja, I’ve got a question for you.”

“What’s that?” Kuja dumped the contents of the sack out onto the table and began to pick through them.

“It’s about Seifer and the sheriff, if that’s not too sensitive a subject.”

Kuja glanced up. “Is this a question I’m going to need to drink for?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t think it’ll directly involve you.”

“Alright then. Ask away.”

“Well, what happened between them? I’ve been around enough little towns to see a fair amount of animosity towards a lawman from a man who tends to be on the wrong side of the law, but... back in the summer, when I saw Seifer hit the sheriff with his gun. There was something else to that. Something almost vicious.”

“Seifer can be a vicious man at times,” Kuja murmured.

“The sheriff’s wife didn’t sound too happy with him either, and she hadn’t even come inside yet to see what he did.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose that’s true.” Kuja turned a piece of dried apple over in his hands and frowned. “It started back about the time that Seifer first came to town. About six years ago. I was running the saloon here by then, under the mayor’s thumb. Seifer was just... another one of those drifters that comes through a town now and then. Nothing to him but what he had with him, and a whole lot of attitude.” He sighed softly. “He wasn’t as bad as he is now. He just... he didn’t have anything to lose, so he didn’t care what anyone thought of him.”

“That what he told you?”

Kuja nodded. “In so many words.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Leonhart was just the deputy then, but he and Seifer hit it off real poorly right away, almost the first night that Seifer was in town.”

“I suppose someone with as fiery a temper as Seifer might not be able to tolerate someone as calm and collected as the sheriff.”

“And that was only the start of it.” Kuja divided the dried apples up into three piles, and then went to drawer in the side of the table. “There was the attitude first, of course. Seifer gave Squall lip almost as soon as he came into town. No one really thought much of it at the time because Squall tends to get a rise out of a lot of people without trying to.” He pulled a few pieces of cheesecloth from the drawer and bumped it shut with his hip. “But then, as often happens between two men, there came traipsing a lovely little lady.”

Irvine watched as he deftly scooped up each pile of dried apples into a cloth, and then tied each into a bundle. “ A woman, huh?”

“Yes. Seifer wanted to court her, but so did Squall. They both tried for a bit, but it got to be a bit ridiculous. So they decided to duel, to see who would have the right to court the lovely young lady.” Kuja smiled thinly, his eyes half closed. “They agreed to a good old-fashioned dual with swords, like we were still in England or something. There was a pair of old cavalry sabers that the sheriff had confiscated off someone, and they fought with those.” Kuja closed his eyes.

“Was it a good fight?”

“Mm, yes. But, short, as the best fights often are. They had agreed to fight only to first blood, because Squall was a deputy and going further than that could be messy for the survivor.” Kuja opened his eyes and half turned to face Irvine. He gestured with his hands, running the left into the right. “They clashed quite violently, sabers up in their faces. Truthfully, you would not think such passions to be within Mr. Leonhart when you look at him. As they say, still waters run deep. Seifer attacked repeatedly, with all the proper fervor of an impassioned young man. But, he let his guard down, and Squall slashed him across the face with his saber. To see the shocked look on the deputy’s face as well, I don’t think he really meant to hit him there. But, he did.”

“Ah, the scar on Seifer’s nose.”

“That’s right.” Kuja dusted his hands off on his apron. “He sulked about the town for a few months after that. And, Squall eventually won the girl’s heart.”

“His wife? That explains her yelling.”

“Yes, there isn’t much love lost between Seifer and Rinoa.” Kuja chuckled. “I think Seifer may have really had a soft spot in that dark heart of his for her, though. He brooded about for quite some time before moving on to other conquests.” He pointed at himself. Irvine got up from his seat and moved closer. Kuja smiled as Irvine wrapped his arms along his sides.

“Do you consider yourself conquered, Kuja?”

“Not at all,” he said. “No more than a mountain considers itself conquered when the explorers have gone and the wind has blown their flags away.”

“Good to know.”

Kuja tilted his head back. “Do you wish to conquer me, Irvine?”

“On the contrary. I should like to think myself just a lonely lost explorer who has stumbled upon your beauty in the wilderness.”

Kuja chuckled and kissed him. “Sap.”

 

Irvine liked waking up in Kuja’s bed. It was a strange realization he had on Saturday morning. He liked coming back to his senses snuggled under the warm blankets, the cool caress of the air on his cheeks, the firm pressure of the body in the bed next to him. Kuja would always grump and grumble when he was roused, trying to burrow into the mattress and away from the day ahead of them. It had taken some experimentation on his part, but Irvine had determined that the quickest way to get Kuja up and moving was not necessarily the kindest. He would sit on the foot of the bed and find Kuja’s feet under the covers. The man was extremely ticklish in some spots, his feet being one of them, and it only took a few playful pokes at his feet to get him moving. Even through several layers of blankets, the contact was enough to send Kuja shrieking and scurrying out of the bed. This usually ended in Irvine being bodily tackled down into the covers and kissed for his insolence.

Irvine was glad, privately, that Kuja felt comfortable enough around him to not feel the need to maintain an act around him. He thought that Kuja might be glad for it, as well.

“We’re going to decorate for Christmas today,” Kuja said on Saturday morning. He was in the midst of slicing up a loaf of bread for breakfast. “Tomorrow’s Christmas eve, so there won’t be time for it between church and getting ready for the dance.”

“Are you going to the dance?” Irvine asked.

“No,” Kuja said, “but you’re free to if you want to go.”

“I’m not sure I should, if you aren’t.”

“Why?”

Irvine got up from his perch next to the fireplace and stood at Kuja’s side. “Because, if I’m trying to court you, then I shouldn’t be at a dance having a good time with all the other ladies in town.”

Kuja blushed. “I wasn’t aware that you were courting me, now.”

“I’ve been very subtle about it.”

He looked up at the cowboy, a little smile on his lips. “Still, I don’t wish to attend.”

“Then, I will stay here with you. We can play songs for each other on the piano and dance.”

Kuja huffed softly and shook his head. “There will be plenty of good food and drink to be had at the mayor’s house.”

Irvine leaned against the table and tilted his head to look at Kuja. “Do you not want me to stay here with you?”

“It’s not that.” Kuja pursed his lips, and then sighed through his nose. “It’s not that at all.”

“Then, tell me.”

Kuja was quiet for a moment. Then he said: “Every year, the mayor throws a big party or a dance on Christmas eve. Every year, I let Zidane and Quistis go. But I never go. I stay here by myself and work on things for Christmas dinner.”

Irvine frowned. “Every year? Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s like a penance.”

“Are you trying to be penitent, or just trying to avoid having to dance with the mayor?”

“A bit of both, I suppose.”

Irvine reached and took the closer of the other man’s gloved hands. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let you do that this year.” He looked at their hands. “If I’m gone next year, then fine, you can go back to moping around like some sad old spinster. But, not this year. And not any other year that I’m here with you. Is that clear?”

Kuja gasped softly, the pink color returning to his cheeks. “Irvine!”

He softened his voice. “Please, Kuja. Let me do this. It’s been a mighty long time since I’ve spent Christmas with someone I care about.”

“Since when do you care about me?” Kuja said, his voice a whisper. 

“I don’t know when it started, to be honest. But I do.” He squeezed the gloved hand. “You don’t have to care about me back.”

“Who’s to say that I won’t?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, until the sound of boots clomping down the stairs made Kuja twitch and pull his hand away with the same guilty resignation of a child caught pilfering from a cookie jar. Zidane entered the kitchen, all smiles and mussed hair.

“Morning, _souer_ , morning Irvine.” Zidane grabbed a piece of bread from the table, which earned him a swat from his sibling.

“That’s for the paying guests, Zidane!” 

“I’ll give you a bit later.”

Kuja sighed and shook his head. “When you’re done with that, I want you to go to the mayor’s house and pick up our greenery. Quistis said that Mateus’s men came back from their collection trip with a decent amount for everyone.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Collection trip?” Irvine returned to his seat by the fire.

“Yes. The mayor sent some men out to the hills west of the railroad to get him a Christmas tree. There’s a lot of pine over there still. Another yearly thing that he does. They usually bring back extra branches for people to use for decorations.”

“You don’t get a tree?”

“No room for it in the saloon,” Kuja said. “But, we make do.” He smiled. “Wait until you see our collection of decorations. I think you’ll be suitably impressed.”

Irvine smiled in return. “I look forward to it.”

 

After a hearty breakfast was served and eaten by the guests of the hotel, and the dishes were all cleaned and put away, and a stew was started for supper, Kuja went to his office. Irvine followed, curious, as he had never been in there--the door was always locked when he tried it. He discovered the reason why--the room was barely an office at all any more, but had rather been renovated into a small storage area. There was still a desk and chair present, but the desk was covered in wooden crates and other storage containers.

“What is all of this?” Irvine wondered as Kuja lifted the lid of a box and peered inside.

“Just my things, for the most part.” He closed the lid. “I have a hard time throwing things away, you know? Never know when I might need something. Or when someone else might have need of something that I no longer do.”

“Oh, I see. What are you looking for?”

“Our box of Christmas decorations.” Kuja smiled as he looked into another box. “Ah, here we are.” He picked up the box with a little grunt. “It gets heavier every year, but that’s a good thing.”

“What sort of decorations?” Irvine followed Kuja out of the office, closing the door behind them.

“Just things we’ve made over the years. We’ll string yarn in the windows and hang paper ornaments on the yarn, for the people in the town to see. Every year Zidane and Quistis will help me make new ones.” They made their way back into the saloon, and Kuja set the box down on the table. “Then, when we take the decorations down after Christmas, we pick our favorites and keep them to use again the next year.”

“Sounds like a nice tradition.”

Kuja smiled. “We used to do the same thing when we were younger, back in New York. I guess it’s just nice to have something from our childhood to remember.”

“It doesn’t make you sad?”

He shook his head and pulled the lift off the box. “No, it doesn’t. It’s a nice thing to remember.”

Irvine leaned and peered into the box. It was about two-thirds full of pieces of paper that had been cut and folded into a variety of shapes. There were snowflakes and stars and angels with wings made of scraps of lace and a variety of other holiday shapes. Some were simplistic, the handiwork of a child, but others were more ornate and carefully crafted. 

“Do you think I could make one?”

Kuja blinked. “You’d like to?”

He smiled. “Yeah, it looks like it would be something fun to do.”

Kuja smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course! I’ve got a box of scrap paper in my room that I’ve been saving for today.”

Irvine helped hang lengths of yarn across the windows. It turned out being a fairly easy task as there were already nails still present for the duty left from Christmases past. They hung the old decorations with scraps of string and yarn and ribbon. Kuja would stop and tell each ornament’s story to Irvine, saying who made it and how many years had passed since its creation. Irvine couldn’t help but be impressed by his companion’s near encyclopedic knowledge of the contents of that simple box. Zidane returned with a load of greenery fresh from the foothills while they were hanging up the paper ornaments, and was quickly dragged into the box of memories. Afterwards, the greenery was arranged along the length of the bar, and Kuja and Zidane decorated it with pretty red bows and gingerbread cookies. Then Kuja had to start work on lunch and disappeared off into the kitchen while Zidane and Irvine sat at one of the saloon tables with scraps of paper and ribbon and lace and a little bowl of glue that Kuja had whipped together for them. Quistis was off visiting with a friend in town, Zidane reported, and would have to make her decoration later in the day.

Irvine sat at the table and stared at all the supplies. He watched as Zidane folded pieces of paper and took snips out of them with Kuja’s sewing scissors, creating passable snowflakes and stars. He wondered what he should create. He thought he might like to make something special, something that Kuja would like enough to want to save in the box with the other decorations when the holiday had passed. Something that Kuja might want to keep to remember him by. But, what to make?

“You know, I’m glad you came back, Irvine,” Zidane said while working on another snowflake.

“You are? Why’s that?”

“Because Kuja missed you something awful. She--” He paused, glanced toward the stairs, and then lowered the volume of his voice. “He was really upset when you left. Thought that you weren’t ever going to be coming back, you know?”

Irvine gave a quiet nod.

“He’s been all smiles and happiness ever since you came back. So, I’m glad you did.” He returned his voice to its normal speaking volume. “Even if it is just until the weather warms up again.”

“Yeah, well. Everyone’s been so glad to see me, I’m not sure how long it’ll take for me to wear out my welcome.”

Zidane laughed. “Kuja’s the one you have to worry about the most. She’s the only one who might throw you out of town.”

Irvine nodded again and picked up a pencil from the tray of supplies. He sketched it out his idea on a piece of paper in light lines, and then picked up the sewing scissors and began to cut the form free. First a head and neck, then the round little body. He used extra scraps glued to the sides for wings, and several carefully trimmed pieces of lace for tail feathers. Zidane paused in his work to watch him.

“Say, you’re really good at this,” he said.

“Well, I do like to draw,” Irvine said. He used the pencil to draw on a pair of little black eyes.

“That’s a chocobo, right?”

“That’s right.”

Zidane made a thoughtful noise. “It looks really good, but... what’s a chocobo have to do with Christmas?”

Irvine laughed. “I don’t know. I just like chocobos.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sure Kuja will like it all the same.”

He smiled. “I’m hoping that he does.”

_End Chapter 12_


	13. The Belle and the Balls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter is NSFW. Hide your chicobos, y'all.

Chapter 13: The Belle and the Balls

“I think my corset could be a little tighter.”

“Quistis, if your corset is laced any tighter you’ll pass out in the middle of a polka.”

The young woman laughed. “But, I want to look my best!”

“You look fine, sweetheart.” Kuja double knotted the corset ties. “You could be wearing a sack and everyone would still think you were lovely. Especially Mr. Palamecia.”

Quistis smiled. “I hope so.”

“I know so.” He patted the girl on the shoulder. “Just have fun tonight, and stay out of trouble.”

Irvine tilted his head. “It’s a Christmas dance, what kind of trouble could she get into?”

“You’re a young man, cowboy, use your imagination.”

Quistis giggled. “You aren’t looking, are you?”

Irvine was seated facing the wall, as to not peer upon Kuja’s ward while she was getting into her corset. “No, I’m being good.”

She laughed. “You’re probably the best behaved cowboy in all of Colorado, then.”

“Well, I don’t want to do anything to upset Miss Kuja.”

He continued staring at the wall, watching the flickering of shadows, until he was given the okay to turn around. Quistis was mostly dressed now, garbed in dark blue calico with lacy white trim, hunched in front of the mirror at Kuja’s dressing table and adjusting her breasts.

“I’m still not sure it’s tight enough.”

“You’ll be fine, Quistis. Honestly.”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, Miss Kuja.” She righted herself and turned to face Irvine. “What do you think?”

“Pretty as a picture,” he said. She beamed. Kuja patted her gently on the back.

“Alright, sweetheart, why don’t you go finish getting ready? It’s nearly time for you to go.”

Quistis nodded and rustled off out of Kuja’s bedroom. Irvine sighed and turned his attention back to Kuja. The other man was now seated at his dressing table and brushing out his hair.  
“You look lovely tonight, too, Kuja.”

He smiled thinly. “Is there a time when I don’t look lovely?”

Irvine made an exaggeratedly thoughtful noise. “It might be possible, but I can’t recall anything at the moment. Maybe when you’re angry.”

“I’m not as pretty when I’m angry?”

“Kind of scary looking,” he said. Kuja chuckled and worked his hair up into a bun. “I don’t know why you’d want to not be beautiful, though.”

“Is my beauty the only thing that attracts you to me, Irvine?”

“No. Are you only attracted to me for my looks?”

Kuja pursed his lips. “Well, I am but a man. I’d be lying if I said that the physical attraction wasn’t important. But, no, I think you’re a quite charming and interesting person.”

“Fair enough.”

There was a knock on Kuja’s bedroom door, and Zidane’s voice came booming through.

“You decent?”

“As I ever am!” Kuja got up and opened the door. Zidane looked him up and down, and then sighed.

“You’re not very dressed up,” he said.

“I don’t need to be dressed up tonight.”

“Are you sure, Kuja?” Zidane said, sounding a bit put off. “You never go to the Emperor’s parties.”

“I’m sure, Zidane. Don’t worry about me.” Kuja patted his brother’s arm. “Now, I want you to escort Quistis inside and make sure she’s found her friends or whomever before you run off chasing your girl.”

Zidane waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I will, don’t worry about it.”

“Have a good night, Zidane. But, don’t stay out too late. We’ve church in the morning for Christmas.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said with a wink. “Good night!”

Kuja sighed as Zidane hurried off, calling Quistis’s name up the stairs.

“Are you doing to be okay?”

Kuja blinked and looked back at Irvine. He forced a smile to his face. “Yes, of course. I’m a big boy, I can manage this.”

“I’ll be there with you.”

The strain left the smile. “You will. And I appreciate it a lot.” He tilted his head. “Are you wearing that?”

Irvine glanced down at his clothing. “It’s what I have, so yes.”

“Mm. I don’t suppose anyone will complain. I mean, the people in town who know you know you’re a chocobo driver and not a businessman.”

“Christmas eve is hardly the right time to be judging someone,” Irvine said. Kuja shrugged and pushed a pin into his hair. “Besides, no one is going to be looking at me.”

“I hope you’re right.” Kuja got up and brushed his hands down the front of his dress. It was nothing new, something dark green and soft that Irvine had seen him wear before. “I’m not going to bother asking you how I look, because your answer is always the same.”

Irvine laughed. “You’ve got me there.”

Kuja pulled on a pair of gloves. “I’ve got you right where I want you, cowboy.” He smiled as he retrieved a fur wrap from its peg on the wall and draped it over his shoulders.

 

They left the saloon a short time later, Kuja locking the doors on the way out. For a moment he stood on the steps, staring uneasily across the street. Irvine stood next to him, watching his breath fog in a thick white plume in the frigid air. Just standing out in the cold and breathing was making his lungs hurt, and he gently touched Kuja’s shoulder.

“Don’t need to loiter out here, might catch a cold.”

Kuja swallowed and nodded. He put his hand in the crook of Irvine’s arm, and they descended the stairs and crossed the street. There was already a crowd present. It appeared to Irvine that everyone in town was cramming themselves into the mayor’s manor for the Christmas dance, both priest and prostitute alike. The mayor himself was standing near the door, greeting the townsfolk as they entered his domicile. He looked genuinely surprised to see Kuja arrive at his doorstep.

“In all my years,” Mateus said. “I did not think I would have you darkening my doorstep again on Christmas Eve.”

“I won’t stay long,” Kuja said. “I just wanted to be sure that you were holding up your end of things.”

The mayor smiled. “Of course. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, Miss Kuja.” He nodded to Irvine. “Mr. Kinneas, good of you to join us.”

Irvine nodded in return. “Good of you to have us, Mr. Palamecia.”

Kuja just smiled thinly. He spoke softly: “Not long.”

They went inside. Irvine pondered Kuja’s words to the mayor but did not ask about them. They made their way through the foyer and down the hall to the big room where the dance was being held. The mansion was decorated handsomely for the holiday, with a big tree covered in ribbons and decorations in the sitting room, and paper chains and other ornaments hanging around the perimeter of the dancing room. There was already a lively polka being played, and the center of the room was crowded with people happily dancing. Kuja threaded his way along the edge of the crowd, politely stopping now and then to respond to someone who greeted him.

“Miss Kuja! My, what a pleasure to see you here tonight!” It was Ardyn who first approached them out of the crowd. His smile was all teeth and sincerity as he tipsily half-bowed at Kuja. He had an empty wine glass in the hand that he briefly extended toward Kuja. “You’ll save a dance for me, won’t you, my dear?”

The pink on Kuja’s cheeks darkened briefly, and he waved a gloved hand at the rose haired man. “Maybe next year, Mr. Izunia. My dance card is already full this Christmas.”

He pursed his lips into a pout. “You’re a treacherous woman, Miss Kuja.”

Kuja pulled his lips into a thin smile. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Izunia.”

Ardyn raised his empty glass in a salute before turning away. “Do take care, Miss Kuja.”

“What was that about?” Irvine wondered aloud as he watched his friend amble away.

“Oh, just Ardyn being himself. He’s always practicing his flirting techniques on me.”

“You poor thing.”

Kuja just chuckled, and continued through the hall. Irvine kept at his side, or just behind him as the crowd permitted. Eventually Kuja stopped, and Irvine stood fast at his side. They looked out at the dance floor. 

Irvine saw Quistis now and then, sometimes on the arm of some young man or another, but more frequently with the mayor. A few of her friends from town bubbled up to him at one point. There was a perky little brunette in yellow gingham, a more reserved girl with blonde pigtails and a cornflower blue gown, and a few others that flocked in front of him for a few minutes before fluttering off back into the crowds. Irvine supposed that one of those girls should have been more to his liking since they were younger than him and a more appropriate match. However, it only took a glance at his beautiful companion to shake that consideration free from his mind. He did not know when a man nearly thirty had become preferable to a fresh teenaged girl, but it had, and he decided that he was not going to argue with the change. 

After a while the music calmed to a more reserved number, and Irvine looked at the man standing next to him.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked Kuja. The other man blushed.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come on, it’s just a waltz. It’ll be just you and me, you don’t have to worry about being dragged off in a square.”

Kuja bit his lower lip for a moment, and then nodded. “Alright. Just with you, cowboy.”

Irvine took Kuja’s gloved hand, and then slipped out onto the crowded dance floor. Kuja looked embarrassed as they began to dance. Irvine held Kuja’s right hand in his left, and rested his right hand below the other man’s shoulder blade. He smiled as Kuja rested his hand on his shoulder. 

“You do know how to waltz, don’t you?” Irvine asked in a soft, teasing voice. Kuja blushed.

“Of course I do. I just haven’t danced in ages.”

“Well, I’m going to have to rectify that, aren’t I?”

“Don’t mock me, Irvine,” he said softly. 

Irvine tilted his head down. “I’m not, Kuja.”

They danced for the span of two waltzes. Kuja posture relaxed over time, but the flustered look never left his face. After the second song ended, Kuja stepped back and started for the edge of the crowd. Irvine dutifully followed him.

“That all the dance you have in you tonight?”

Kuja’s cheeks were pink as he looked up at Irvine. “It’s not that.”

“Then, what?”

“I just, um, I’m just a touch uncomfortable around so many people, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see. And in the house of your enemy, no less.”

Kuja gave a little grunt and looked at the floor.

“Well, I do appreciate the dances, at least.”

“You could dance with someone else,” Kuja said to the floor.

“No, I don’t think I could. I only came here because I wanted to dance with you.”

Kuja’s hands picked at the front of his dress. “We could go back to the saloon and dance.”

“If you’d like to.”

Kuja’s gaze went up for a moment, skimming the crowd, and then focused on Irvine’s face. He spoke softly, and Irvine had to lean in to hear him. “I want to go home. Please.”

Irvine nodded, letting Kuja take his arm as he led the way out of the dancing room. They were nearly to the front door when they were intercepted by the mayor. 

“Leaving already?” He arched a brow as he looked between Kuja and Irvine. Kuja was pulling away from them, offering a quick, halfhearted curtsy as he continued for the door.

“I’m afraid Miss Kuja’s already her share of fun for the evening,” Irvine said. “But, we do appreciate your hospitality.”

The mayor looked admittedly a bit puzzled, but smiled and nodded politely all the same. “Yes, yes.”

“We’ll see you in church tomorrow.”

“Naturally.” He offered a little half bow, before disappearing back into the crowd. Irvine sighed and hurried out after Kuja. The other man was already shuffling his way across the street.

“Kuja! Hey, hold your horses there, little missy!”

He paused and looked over his shoulder at Irvine, cheeks pink, though Irvine could not tell if it was from the cold or some kind of flustering.

“That was a little rude, don’t you think?”

Kuja shook his head as he fished his keys out. “I doubt that Mateus would have accepted a cordial departure on my part.”

“You are something else, did you know that?”

He smiled as he opened the front door. “I’ve been told something to that effect, yes.”

They slipped inside out of the cold and into the cool saloon. Kuja went over to the stove and lit it.

“Did you want something to drink? I’m sorry, I pulled us out of there before we had a time to partake in any of the refreshments.”

“I don’t mind. But, if you’re paying, I’ll take a glass of whiskey.”

Kuja retrieved two small glasses and set them on the counter. He unlocked the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. When both glasses had been filled, Kuja gently set one in front of Irvine.

“A toast,” Kuja said, lifting his glass. “To the best company I’ve had on a Christmas eve in a long time.”

Irvine smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

They downed their glasses. Irvine couldn’t help but wince--the alcohol was cold and felt like it was biting at his teeth. Kuja coughed and shook his head.

“Now, I believe you said something about a dance?”

Irvine nodded, and they went over to the piano. Kuja sat and lifted the lid.

“I’m not sure if I know any Christmas carols that count as a waltz,” he said.

“Just pick something you like. We can manage.”

Kuja nodded, and Irvine leaned against the piano, listening as he carefully picked out the notes to Jingle Bells. Then Kuja stood, and Irvine led him to an empty spot on the saloon floor.

“You know, I never really learned to dance properly as a woman,” Kuja said. “Just as a man. So I always have to think a lot when I’m dancing.”

“We can go slowly,” Irvine said. “Or, you can lead, if you’d like.”

“I think I might, just for once,” Kuja said with a shy smile.

They danced for a few minutes. Then Kuja stopped. He took Irvine’s face in his hands and pulled him down for a kiss. His lips tasted like whiskey, Irvine thought.

“Done dancing already?” Irvine asked.

“No,” Kuja said, his voice husky. “I want to finish dancing in my bedroom.”

Irvine blinked, and then grinned at the other man. “Is that so?”

“Yes, cowboy, it is extremely so.” Kuja took his hand and gave it a little tug. “I’m sure I could have managed another hour at that dance if you hadn’t been there being all charming and attractive.”

Irvine followed him. “Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Completely,” Kuja said.

“I suppose I’m willing to take the blame, just this once.”

 

They went to Kuja’s room, and Kuja carefully bolted the door behind him.

“I don’t want any distractions,” he said. Irvine nodded in agreement.

Kuja roused the fire from its slumber, adding several logs to the fire until it was filling the room with its crackling heat. Kuja took a blanket off of the bed and spread on the floor a few feet from the fire.

“Help me undress,” Kuja said. Irvine complied with eager obedience. 

Together they stripped Kuja from his clothing. Off came the gown and the petticoats and the corset and all the layers in-between. Everything down to the very last layer, until Kuja was standing bared before him. Irvine tried at first to keep his gaze on Kuja’s pretty face, but was unable to keep himself from looking down. Kuja’s cock was already half hard, and Irvine was admittedly surprised to find that its size was no different than what he had seen on himself or any other man. He supposed he had subconsciously been expecting the effeminately faced man to be smaller or more delicately built below, but no, Kuja was definitely a normal man in that aspect.

“I want to see you,” Kuja said. “All of you, laid bare before me. I haven’t seen enough of you to satiate my curiosity.”

Irvine had the feeling that Kuja’s curiosity was not the only thing that needed satiating. He let Kuja help him unbutton his shirt and remove his boots and socks and everything else, until he was standing in the flickering light of the fireplace, and just as nude as his companion--aside from his chocobo whistle. They stood close, facing each other, but not quite touching. Irvine admired the lines of Kuja’s body, undisturbed by corset or stockings or anything else. Kuja had nice legs, Irvine thought, surprisingly shapely thighs and calves and slender ankles that led down to feet that looked no worse for wear from constantly being forced into women’s shoes. His eyes went up again, darting almost shyly over Kuja’s manhood and up over the crowning growth of fine, silvery hairs. When he looked back up to Kuja’s face, he was surprised. Kuja was staring at him, and Irvine recognized the look that Kuja was giving him. It was similar to the look a prostitute gave a man when she realized that he had just been paid and had a full wallet. Eyes heavily lidded, gaze appraising, lips parted ever so slightly. Inviting, beckoning, calling to him.

“Oh, hell,” Irvine said under his breath. Kuja chuckled, taking a step closer, his hands running from Irvine’s shoulders and down his arms, then up again, palms brushing over his nipples and meeting in the center of his chest.

“You’re a wonderful looking man, Irvine,” Kuja said. His fingers fanned out again and ran down his sides. Irvine shivered.

“I could say the same about you--!” He let out a small surprised yelp as Kuja’s hands reached around and grabbed at his ass, each hand claiming a cheek and squeezing. “Kuja!”

The other man smiled playfully at him. “Are you going to be shy now, cowboy?”

“Wh--no, of course not.” He felt a blush heat his cheeks, more than the fire already was. “I just was a little surprised. Can’t say I can remember the last time I was naked with another man and they grabbed my bottom.”

“Oh. I can.” Kuja chuckled. He removed a hand from Irvine’s rear and moved it to his chest, tracing a finger lightly down his sternum. He leaned in closer and whispered, his lips almost touching Irvine’s. “I want to fuck you, cowboy.”

Irvine’s heart thudded in his chest, and he recalled what Kuja had said about his past with Seifer. “Are you... going to make me your woman?”

“No,” Kuja said, his voice a purr as he leaned in closer, lips brush past. “I’m going to make you my _man_.”

He felt a jolt, like he had been struck by lightning, as their cocks bumped together. Kuja’s eyelids fluttered.

“I-” Irvine swallowed, something warm invading his brain and making it difficult to think clearly. “I’ve never done that before. With a man.”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, but--” He was quieted as Kuja crushed their mouths together. He was strikingly aware of everything that he was feeling physically, more so than any time he had been with a woman. Perhaps that was because he was almost painfully aware of his prick as it pressed against Kuja and his own body. Every little touch, every little bumping of flesh registered so strongly that he couldn’t help but wonder if Kuja had laced his whiskey with something. Kuja touched his shoulders and pushed down ever so slightly. “Sit here.”

Not sure what else he should be doing in this situation, Irvine sat on the blanket in front of the fireplace. He watched as Kuja lazily stretched his arms over his head, and then made his way over to the dressing table. Kuja retrieved a small glass bottle from the drawer. It was half full of a mysterious, somewhat viscous pale yellow liquid. Irvine looked at it curiously.

“What’s that?”

“Just a bit of, ah, medicinal oil I picked up in Denver,” Kuja said. He gave the bottle a little shake. “It’s useless for actually curing anything, but I’ve found it good for other purposes.”

“Other purposes...” His brain caught up to the situation. “Oh.”

Kuja smiled wryly. “Yes, those kind of purposes. I admittedly haven’t had a great deal of use for it lately, but it never hurts to have some on hand. Just in case I happen to have a handsome cowboy sitting in front of my fireplace.”

He swallowed again. “You happen to be in luck, then.”

“I do indeed.” Kuja retrieved a towel from the wash basin, and then sat on his knees next to him. He set the bottle and the towel on the edge of the stones that lines the fireplace, and turned back to face Irvine. “You know, you don’t have to do this with me if you don’t want to. I know it can be kind of scary.”

Irvine scoffed softly. “I’m not afraid.”

“Still. It isn’t something that every man is open to trying.”

He looked at the bottle and then back to Kuja. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little apprehensive.”

Kuja smiled. He extended his hand between them and brushed his fingers through Irvine’s hair. “I must admit, the first time I had sex with Seifer, I wasn’t really game for it. Or the second. Or, well...” He trailed off, looking to the fire. 

“You were always on the, uh, receiving end?”

Kuja nodded. “Yes. I tolerated it because I loved him, but honestly I would have liked to try it the other way around.” He blushed. “That makes me sound selfish. Here I am demanding the same thing of you.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to argue with you this time. You’re older and wiser and more experienced and all that.”

“This time?” Kuja blinked and smiled prettily at him. “Yes, if we try this again, then I will have to let you have your turn. To see which you prefer.”

“Sounds fair.” He shifted his weight. “So, um, how do we start?”

“We already have.” He chuckled at Irvine’s confused echo. “Yes, well, step one of sex is usually ‘remove any garments that might get in the way of sex’.” He patted his thighs. “Now, come here. I want you to straddle my legs.”

“Why like this?” he asked as he moved into the position indicated. Kuja’s fingers slid down his backside.

“Easier access? And because I can kiss you like this.” Kuja leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Oh.” That made sense, Irvine thought. He tried to settle himself, but it was admittedly a bit difficult when sitting in a position that he usually only adopted when on horseback. Beneath him, Kuja picked up the bottle and removed its stopper. He watched the other man coat the fingers of one hand in the liquid and then return the bottle to the floor. His wondering of what Kuja was up to was distracted as the man’s empty hand moved to curl his fingers lightly around his cock. He liked this, and so had let his guard down and relaxed when he felt the wet fingers of Kuja’s other hand pressing between his buttocks and teasing at the untested ring of his entrance. He gasped softly.

“Easy there,” Kuja said softly, as though Irvine were a nervous horse. Oh, how the tables had turned from just a few days before, Irvine thought before his brain gave up on coherency. He bit his lower lip to avoid crying out again as a slick fingertip probed and gently pushed into him. Kuja murmured something in a soft, pleasant tone before leaning in to kiss him.

They remained like this for several minutes. Kuja seemed to be in no rush, and Irvine was glad for it. They sat, lazily kissing, Kuja’s hand stroking at Irvine’s cock except for when he had to stop and pick up the bottle of oil and add more to his other hand. The other hand was busy as well, first with one finger, then eventually a second. His fingers slid in repeatedly, curling when at their deepest and brushing at something tantalizing that Irvine had not before been aware of the existence of inside him. He squirmed, feeling ever so helpless at that teasing touch, wanting to know what lay just a bit beyond. He was quite certain that he was about to find out.

“I think you’re ready,” Kuja murmured after some time. Irvine wasn’t sure how long it had been--the top log in the fireplace had burned almost halfway through, and he had long since lost himself to Kuja’s attentions.

“Ready?”

“Mm-hmm.” Kuja moved his hands, and Irvine shifted his hips back slightly. “Lay down on the blanket. On your left side, like you were going to sleep.”

“Why?” Irvine asked as he slid off of Kuja’s lap. The other man smiled secretively.

“Because, it’s a good way to start.”

“Oh.” He let Kuja re-position his legs, nodding when the other man asked if he was comfortable. He heard the soft clink of the bottle.

“Now,” Kuja said, his voice little more than a low murmur, “you’ll have to relax for me, or this is going to hurt.”

It felt counter-intuitive, but he nodded. Kuja kissed at his shoulder.

“If you need me to stop, tell me to stop. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Irvine bit his lower lip as he felt something press against his hole. It was bigger than the man’s fingers had been, and he knew it was the head of Kuja’s cock. Apprehensive, Irvine tried to look over his shoulder but could not see what Kuja was up to. Kuja just shook his head and feathered his fingers down Irvine’s right side. Irvine shivered and did his best to relax. Kuja’s hand stroked down his side again, and Irvine exhaled softly.

He gasped again, resolution for quiet forgotten, as Kuja pushed into him. It hurt more than he could have anticipated. Kuja paused, waiting, and murmured under his breath in French. Irvine wondered if he had done something wrong, but then realized that Kuja was just waiting for him to relax again. He heard the bottle open once more, and did his best not to squirm when he felt a bit of moisture tickling its way along the area where they were joined. Kuja chuckled and kissed at his shoulder. A slippery set of fingers reached around Irvine’s right hip and found their way to his cock, teasing at it lightly as Kuja slowly began to push in. 

Irvine wondered if it were possible to be torn apart, right down the middle, like this. Probably not, surely with all the lonely, bored, horny cowboys out there he would have heard about something horrible like that happening. He closed his eyes trying to keep his sphincter from grabbing at the intrusion.

“You’re doing fine,” he heard Kuja murmur. He inhaled deeply and let the breath out as slowly as he could manage. The pressure and fullness decreased for a moment, and then returned. It didn’t hurt quite as much the second time, or the third. Each time, Kuja pushed in a bit more, and his fingers continued to caress Irvine’s cock. Given enough time, Irvine was able to relax enough to actually realize that he was enjoying himself. The pain was nothing, he had been riding saddle-sore since he was barely a teenager, after all. Kuja was being as gentle as he could, mindful of Irvine’s lack of experience. He found that was almost as arousing as the beautiful man having a hand curled around his cock.

“Ah,” he said in a little puff of breath. Kuja paused again, kissing at the back of his shoulder.

“You feel good,” he said softly.

“I feel full,” Irvine said, his cheeks hot. Kuja laughed, and Irvine groaned softly as the sound traveled through their bodies. Kuja continued moving in little thrusts, deeper and deeper into him, until Irvine became aware that he was coming close to brushing against that tantalizing spot that his fingers had teased earlier. He shivered and pressed his back against Kuja’s chest.

“Getting close, hmm?”

Irvine nodded.

“Good.” His hips began to move quickly, pulling out and pushing in again, closer and closer to that mysterious point that Irvine could feel waiting for something. And then, as Kuja entered him completely, it was though a switch had been flipped in Irvine’s brain. It was a perfect, stunning moment of pleasure, and he could not help but cry out as he came. He trembled for a moment, groaning as Kuja ground into him, fingers squeezing at his twitching member.

“Ah, fuck! Kuja!” Irvine gasped and panted for breath. Behind him, Kuja withdrew, and after a few moments of stroking Irvine was aware of a warm, wet splash on the skin above his tailbone.

They laid there together on the blanket for several minutes, quiet except for their soft catching of breaths. When he head cleared, he was left with a pleasant, drowsy haze. Kuja had rolled onto his back, looking beautiful and spent, skin lightly flushed in the light of the fire. He picked up the towel and used it to clean himself up, and then offered the towel to the other man. Irvine took it and did the same.

“You alright?” Kuja’s voice was thick and low. Irvine nodded.

“A little sore, but, yes. Definitely good.”

Kuja smiled lazily. “Thank you.” Irvine blinked, but then smiled back at him.

“You don’t need to thank me, darlin’.”

Kuja laughed and kissed him. “Thank you, all the same.”

 

_End Chapter 13_


	14. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random history notes:  
> 1\. Yes, I checked, and 'O Holy Night' had been written by the time this story takes place. I'm not sure how well it was known in America in 1876, though.  
> 2\. In the area where the story takes place (near Denver, Colorado), the coldest December day recorded was Christmas Eve, 1876. It was -25 degrees (Fahrenheit) out. At least Kuja and Irvine were able to stay warm...

Chapter 14: Christmas

Morning came with a chill in the air and the sound of laughter. Irvine awoke in Kuja’s bed, snuggled close to him under the pile of blankets. They were both still nude, and Irvine found it admittedly quite nice to feel the slide of skin against skin under the covers. The room outside the bed was cold--the fire had gone out during the night. They had been mutually exhausted after their interactions, and had slept soundly through the night. Irvine cringed at the thought of leaving the relative warmth of the bed to restart the fire. Next to him, Kuja was still fast asleep. He could hear the chiming of laughter outside in the streets. It was the happy sound of children running around playing, oblivious to the frozen air around around them.

Irvine shifted his weight under the covers, trying to judge how he was feeling. His bottom was still a little tender, but he had to admit that he had experienced worse pain before after spending too many hours riding on a shitty saddle.

“Oh holy night indeed,” he mumbled to himself.

It hadn’t been all that bad, though. For a moment, Irvine wondered what that said about him. He decided it just meant that he had discovered another way that he could derive pleasure from his body. Nothing wrong with that. It did not matter if the pleasure came from a man or a woman, it simply mattered that it existed at all. That was good enough for him.

Irvine regretfully got out of bed. He searched through the scattered collection of clothes, found his long johns, and quickly put them on. Then he set about warming the place up, adding new logs to the fireplace and lighting them. By the time Irvine had found most of his clothing and put it back on, the room had warmed up significantly, at least enough so that he couldn’t see his breath fogging in front of his face.

Kuja groaned softly from the bed. “Irvine? Why are you up and dressed already?”

“It’s morning, hon.”

“Oh. Blast. Come back to bed.”

Irvine chuckled. “And here I was so nice as to light the fire for you and find your stockings.”

Kuja sat up in bed, hands rubbing at his bare arms. “Undressing completely when it’s below freezing out possibly is not my most brilliant idea ever.”

“It was for a good cause.”

“Mm.” He looked at Irvine. “How do you feel?”

“Good. You?”

“Good.” He flashed a shy smile. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”

“Nothing I won’t recover from.” He brought a pair of gray woolen stockings over to Kuja’s side of the bed. “You were a proper gentleman, in all accords.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He took the stockings. “Thank you. I suppose I should get up. People will be wanting something to eat before church.” Kuja yawned into his hand. “There wasn’t any pounding on the door during the night, so I can only hope that everything went well enough. It usually does.”

“What sort of thing could go wrong? It was a Christmas dance.”

“Well, you know Zidane. He has a habit of getting himself into trouble during times when no one else would.”

“You taught him everything you know, right?”

Kuja snorted and wiggled his way out from under the blankets. “Thank you for lighting the fireplace.”

“Not a problem.”

Irvine helped Kuja back into all of his layers of clothing, which was delayed a bit by stopping for a kiss between every layer. Eventually, though, they did make it out into the kitchen. Irvine sat on the stool by the fireplace and chatted with the other man while he prepared breakfast.

“After church, I think I might go to the livery and check on the horses. You want to come along?”

“If I don’t get dragged into some social or another, certainly.” Kuja smiled. “But, I can’t stay too long. Christmas dinner and all that.”

“The horses don’t usually take too much attention. It’s too cold to take them out for a ride anyways.”

Kuja peered into a pot on the cook stove. “Do you think they miss you, when they’re in the stables?”

“Maybe a little.” He shrugged. “I’m sure they enjoy the break, but they probably get restless, too.”

Kuja was quiet as he stirred the contents of the pot, his brows lowered slightly over his eyes. Irvine tilted his head.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About you leaving again, when the weather gets warm.”

Irvine hesitated. He picked at a loose thread on his coat. “You’d rather me stay?”

Kuja shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe? The thought of you going away again and leaving me alone makes me sad. Even if you might visit after your next drive.”

“I would.”

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I would hope that you would, cowboy. But, as much as I would like to keep you here with me, I know that you’d rather be out riding somewhere, free as a bird.”

Irvine looked at his hands. “I was thinking, I could maybe... maybe see if they could use me here at the Highwind ranch for anything. You know, like more regular employment. Though, here they mostly keep some hens to lay eggs to sell, for income between flocks arriving for butchering.”

Kuja put the lid back on the pot. “You could. But, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”

“I’m thinking about it, Kuja. I’m thinking.” He shrugged. “If I do stay, I’ll have to find some work. I’m not going to mooch off of you forever.”

“I understand. Besides, you a busy sort of fellow. I wouldn’t want you to get bored.” Kuja smiled. “Bored men get themselves into trouble.”

“Goodness knows that’s the case with Zidane.”

“What did I do now?” The blond haired man in question poked his head into the kitchen.

“I don’t know, what did you do last night?” Kuja tapped on a loaf of bread. Zidane grinned.

“I was a complete gentleman, I promise.”

“That grin suggests otherwise.”

“I mean, I got to dance with Ruby a lot. And she might’ve given me a little kiss at the end of the night.”

“Well, good for you.” Kuja picked up a knife. “As long as you didn’t do anything indecent, and didn’t end up in jail, then you’re free to have done whatever you wanted.”

Zidane snorted. “If anyone got herself into trouble last night, it was Quistis.”

“Oh? Where is she, anyways?”

“Probably up in her room.” Zidane leaned forward and grinned. “She disappeared off out of the dance hall near the end of the night and was all giggly and blushing when it was time to go home.”

“Oh boy,” Irvine said. “Though, you maybe don’t want to say things like that when Kuja’s holding a knife.”

“Quistis is a grown woman,” Kuja said, his voice tense. “I can’t control what she does all the time.”

“Certainly not when you’re back over here cozying up by the fire,” Zidane said in a sing-song voice. Kuja’s eyes widened and his fingers tightened on the knife handle.

“Now, now, not on Christmas,” Irvine said. He jerked his chin at Zidane. “Why don’t you be nice to your sibling for once and go fetch some more firewood?”

Zidane gave a light huff. “Since when do you get to boss me around?”

“Since I said he could,” Kuja grumped. Zidane laughed and headed out of the kitchen.

“I didn’t think we were that obvious,” Irvine said. Kuja said.

“No, he’s just guessing. He says things like that every year. I suppose he was bound to turn up right eventually.” Kuja set the knife down and rubbed at his red cheeks. “At least, I don’t think we were that obvious. Or loud. I mean, no one was around when we... you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Irvine got up and kissed Kuja’s gloved hand. “I had a good time last night. Certainly better than I probably would have had if I had stayed at the dance.”

He smiled. “I did, too.”

 

After breakfast, Kuja was approached by Quistis. Irvine watched curiously while washing off dishes. The young lady had an excited, yet somewhat sheepish expression on her face. Kuja looked up from drying off a plate.

“There you are. You missed breakfast.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Kuja. I overslept.”

“Zidane says you disappeared for half the night last night.”

She blushed. “Oh, I wasn’t disappeared. I just wasn’t in the dance hall where he was.” Quistis gave a little scoff. “Like he would have even noticed with his constantly trying to get a hold of Ruby’s hand. He’s worse than a circus monkey.”

“All the same, that doesn’t tell me where you were last night.”

Quistis hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Well, you see, Mateus, I mean Mr. Palamecia, well he and I took a little walk in his manor and sat by the fire in his office for a while and talked.”

“Talked.”

“About the book we’ve been reading,” she said quickly. She chewed on her lower lip for a moment and squirmed in place under Kuja’s doubtful gaze. “And well, he um...”

“Quistis.”

“He asked me to marry him!” Quistis lost control of herself and started laughing happily.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Irvine said lowly.

“And I was so very surprised, I nearly fainted and hit my head on the edge of his desk!” Quistis giggled.

“What did you say?” Kuja’s voice seemed dangerously calm to Irvine.

“Well, I asked him if he was sure. I mean, I’m just me, you know? And he’s got money and power and is important and all that.” She paused, and let out a little sigh. “Oh, and handsome.”

“Regrettably aware of all of that.”

“And he’s, well... nice to me.” She smiled. “So, I said yes.”

Kuja was quiet. Then he smiled. “Congratulations, Quistis. I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.”

Quistis grabbed at one of Kuja’s hands. “You aren’t cross with me, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. This is your life, Quistis, and it’s your decision to make.”

The young woman beamed anew and hugged him. “Thank you, Kuja.”

Kuja patted her gently on the back. “No need to thank me, sweetheart.” He pulled away and looked at her. “Now, why don’t you go get cleaned up and ready for church?”

She nodded. “Yes, of course!”

Irvine watched Kuja’s young ward practically skip out of the kitchen, and then turned his attention back to his companion. “Kuja?”

“It’s alright,” he said softly, the smile gone from his face.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that? I mean, you don’t like the mayor.”

“I have to be alright with it.” Kuja shrugged. “Besides, I made it implicitly clear to Mateus of what I would do to him if he did anything untoward to her.”

Irvine was surprised. “You knew he was going to ask?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. He, ah, asked me for permission to ask her.”

“But, you’re not one of her parents.”

“No, but she’s been in my care nearly half her life. I’m the closest thing she has to family these days.”

“And you’re okay with it? I mean, don’t you hate the guy?”

Kuja was quiet. “Perhaps I do. But, I have to learn to let go, and let Quistis follow her own path. The only person who should be stuck on the path that I’m walking is me.” He looked at Irvine. “And anyone else who might chose to walk it with me. Quistis didn’t get that choice. I’m giving it to her now.”

He smiled. “That’s a very noble sentiment, Kuja.”

“Is it? Because, it’s rather painful to admit.”

He pulled the other man into his arms and hugged him around the waist. Kuja made a sad noise in his throat and ducked his head down, pressing his forehead to the cowboy’s shoulder.

“You really care about her, huh?” Irvine asked in a soft voice.

“I do,” Kuja said in an equally soft return. “I don’t think I could have taken care of her these past years if I didn’t. She was a bit of a troublesome girl. Too inquisitive for her own good. Too smart.”

“Then, why?”

Kuja pulled away. He turned and looked at the tub of wash water and the remaining dirty dishes. Irvine picked up a plate and started to clean it. Kuja sighed.

“When Zidane and I first came to town, we were nobody. I got a job working for Mateus, sure, but beyond that we barely existed. We went to church, and no one would talk to us. The town wasn’t that big, but we were still outsiders.” He picked up the dish drying towel. “But, because of my employment, I met one woman who would at least talk to me. Mateus was still friends with Kefka Palazzo, then. He and his young wife and young daughter lived on their little ranch a few miles from town. He and Mateus were close friends. Kefka was something of a mentor to Mateus. Taught him what he knew about business and all of that. His wife was a good woman, but she was more the city type than someone who belongs out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“So, you were friends with her?”

“Somewhat. Closest thing I’ve had to a friend, at least. Kefka would come to town quite regularly back then, to have supper with Mateus and discuss business. They were involved in chocobo drives, like the Highwinds are. Sometimes he would bring his wife and daughter along, mostly because his wife pined for communication with other people. I was just there as a maid, but we would often talk. I think it gave her comfort.”

“I’m sure it did.”

Kuja smiled for a moment, but it faded as he wiped off the plate that Irvine handed to him. “But, eventually she took sick and died. Before she did, she asked me to watch out for her daughter. Said she was worried of what the west was doing to her husband. I promised to look after her daughter if need be. And eventually, when things went foul between Mateus and Kefka, I felt it necessary to take Quistis in under my own care.”

“And her father just let you?”

He frowned. “To be honest, I think it took him awhile to notice that she was even gone. He was so busy, and...” He shook his head. “It was for the best. And, I’ve done the best I can for her. I know I’m no mother, no father, no proper parent at all. And a saloon is scarcely the best place to raise a girl. But, I tried to raise her properly.”

“From what I’ve seen, she’s just fine, Kuja. And now you won’t have to fret over her any more.”

“I think I’ll always fret about her, at least a little.”

Irvine smiled. “Then, maybe you’re a bit more a parent than you think.”

 

When they went to church, Irvine sat at Kuja’s side without hesitation. Quistis sat on his other side at first, but moved to a different seat to sit next to her new fiance when he oh-so-politely asked it of her. Kuja said nothing, but he could feel the other man quietly seething. So he took Kuja’s gloved hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Kuja huffed softly, but did not say anything. Irvine was, though, aware of Kuja calming some. As in months before, Irvine did not pay much attention to the sermon. It was the usual Christmas fare, anyways, and he had heard some variation of that enough to know what was being said. He was again distracted by his company. Despite Kuja’s lingering poor mood, Irvine felt a twinge in his throat and thought perhaps he might like to find himself sitting here a year from now as well. It was a novel thought to him. He had spent so long alone, so long just traveling here and there and back again, that the idea of settling down had never occurred to him. And now, this man, this peculiar and yet wonderful man, was making him think differently.

He didn’t mind it, not at all. What a wonder it was, to have a person to entertain the thought of falling in love with.

After church, they went back out from the warmth of the crush of people and back into the chilly outside. They went to the livery and looked at Irvine’s horses, who seemed comfortable enough in their box with their corn and hay and blankets. Once the horses had been greeted and wished a happy Christmas, they returned to the inn to warm up. Kuja disappeared into the kitchen, busy with the task of finishing the preparation of Christmas dinner. Irvine did his best to make himself useful, getting wood for the stoves and water for cooking. But, more often than not, he spent the afternoon on the front porch of the saloon, greeting passerby and keeping them entertained so that Kuja could cook in relative peace. He also received several gifts on Kuja’s behalf: knitted scarves from various townsfolk, a new broom from the general store, and even a rather lavish five pound box of oranges from the mayor.

In the evening, when everyone had gone on their separate ways after the hearty Christmas dinner, the keepers of the Desert Palace sat near the stove in the saloon and exchanged their gifts. From Quistis and Zidane, Irvine received a new shaving kit. Kuja merely coyly said that his present was one to be given in private. Irvine gifted his friends with things he had purchased in Denver: deliciously sweet candy for Quistis, a new pack of playing cards for Zidane, and for Kuja, a lovely hair comb made of carved horn in the shape of a peacock’s tail. Kuja had held the comb for several minutes with a strange smile on his face and a tear in his eye.

Late in the evening, when everyone else had gone to bed, Kuja and Irvine stood at the bar. Kuja had the hair comb perched at the top of the bun his silvery hair was wound into. Irvine thought it looked very nice on him.

“I appreciate the sentiment behind the gift, you know,” Kuja said. They were sipping glasses of brandy.

Irvine smiled. “I got it because I thought it would look nice in your hair. And, I was right.”

Kuja chuckled. “Yes, thank you.”

“So, you said you had something for me?”

“I do.” Kuja drained the last of his glass. “I hadn’t gotten something for you earlier. I mean, I hadn’t really expected you to return to town. So, I wasn’t sure what to give you.”

“You don’t necessarily have to give me a gift.”

“I know. But, I want to.” He set his empty glass down and reached under the bar. He retrieved a small green bottle. “So, I’m giving you this.”

Irvine looked at the bottle and leaned to look at the label. “Whisky?”

“From Scotland, by way of France, many years ago.” Kuja smiled softly. “Single malt, aged twenty-five years. Bottled the year I was born. This bottle was a gift from my grandfather to my father, in celebration of my birth.”

He touched the bottle. The glass was cool beneath his fingers. “He didn’t drink it?”

“No. He was cross with his father at the time, and refused to acknowledge his gesture of good will. He kept the bottle, though. I’m not sure when he planned on drinking it.” Kuja tipped his head to the side. “I took it when my brother and I were escaping from New York, in case I needed something to rally my courage. It’s the only thing I have left of him, really.”

“Why give it to me?”

“Because, despite my father’s refusal to accept it, this bottle is a gesture of good will. So, I’m giving it to you.”

Irvine looked at the bottle. “Thank you, Kuja.” He smiled. “Do you want to open it?”

Kuja shook his head. “No, not yet. Though, that’s up to you, now.”

“Mm. Perhaps on new year’s. Will you continue to store it here for me?”

Kuja smiled. “Yes, of course.”

Irvine leaned across the bar and kissed him. “Thank you.”

 

_End Chapter 14_


	15. Fatherly Love

Chapter 15: Fatherly Love

The days that followed Christmas were cold and quiet. The holiday over, things quickly returned to normal. On the evening after Christmas the saloon was busy as ever, and Irvine passed the time drinking and helping Zidane break in his new deck of cards. The next few days were similarly uneventful. But then, during the afternoon three days after Christmas, the saloon received a visitor. Irvine was, as a favor to Kuja, sweeping the floor of the saloon. The front door opened, letting in the blustering cold and the mayor of the town. He was wearing a heavy black coat, and his hair was a windswept mess.

“Well, good afternoon, Mr. Palamecia,” Irvine said. “I’m afraid you’re a little early for the saloon to be open.”

“I’m not here for a drink,” the mayor said tersely. 

No, Irvine thought, he didn’t look like he was at the Desert Palace for a drink. There was something almost cringingly serious to his expression, and his dark eyes were quickly scanning the room.

“Is she here?”

“Kuja? No, she’s in the back cleaning out the cook stove.”

The mayor blinked. “What? No, I meant Miss Quistis.”

Irvine considered the question and looked over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “No, I don’t think I’ve seen her since breakfast.”

“I thought as much.”

He called to the half-open door. “Hey, Kuja! Do you know where Miss Quistis is?”

“You didn’t need to ask her,” the mayor said under his breath, even as Kuja poked his head out of the door.

“What? She said this morning that she was going to Selphie’s for the day. Why?” Kuja’s gaze shifted to the other man, and he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“She isn’t with Miss Selphie,” the mayor said. “She isn’t anywhere in town. I’ve checked.”

“You checked here last?” Irvine asked.

“Naturally. Miss Quistis doesn’t tend to spend her days here at the saloon unless the weather is inclement.” He glanced around again. “To be sincere, I knew she wouldn’t be here when I got here. But, a man can hope.”

“Why do you say that?” Kuja was wiping his hands off on a towel now, still frowning. The mayor pulled a folded piece of paper from one of the pockets in his coat, and held it out. Irvine took it and unfolded it. He heard Kuja’s shoes scuff on the wooden floor as he hurried over to look at the paper. There was a single line written in pencil on the paper.

_Just taking back what’s mine. -KP_

“This is from Kefka, I presume?” Kuja said. The mayor nodded.

“Yes. I know his handwriting well, and that is definitely his.”

“Where did you find this?”

Tied to a rock thrown through my parlor window,” he said, his nose wrinkling. “From what I could ascertain from asking the townsfolk, Miss Quistis never arrived at the Tilmitts this morning. She was snatched up off the street by a man on a black horse.”

“Kefka,” Kuja said softly. The mayor nodded again.

“But, why would he have grabbed Quistis?” Irvine wondered.

“Mostly likely he disagrees with my engagement to his daughter,” the mayor said. “It’s to be expected, though I had hoped it wouldn’t have come to this.” He frowned. “I don’t want her to be hurt.”

“You think this Kefka fellow would hurt his own daughter?”

“To spite me, yes.”

Kuja muttered. “All the girls in town you could have picked from--hell, all the girls in the state you could have called for--and you had to pick the one that you knew would cause you trouble.”

The faintest sound of a sigh escaped from Mateus Palamecia. “Kuja, honestly. You know now is not the time for such things.”

Kuja just harumphed and fluffed his skirts in irritation. 

“The more important matter is the safety of Miss Quistis. There’s no telling what her father might do to her.” The mayor scratched lightly at the stubble on his chin. “I’m surprised he found out so quickly.”

“But, Kefka hasn’t shown his face in town in years, and I haven’t seen Seifer or anyone else from the gang here this month. How would he have found out already?”

The mayor’s expression was grim. “It seems that Kefka has an informant here in town. Ms. Mecia is the most likely culprit.”

Irvine blinked. “Miss Mecia?”

“You might know her better as Mama Ulti.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “What does she have against you, Mr. Palamecia?”

The mayor snorted softly, as though trying not to laugh. “Probably more than our lovely Miss Kuja, here, though that is mostly injustices in her head.”

“She’s a power hungry old witch,” Kuja said.

“That explains the whores, I suppose.”

“All the same, I believe that she is the one who informed Kefka of my engagement.” The mayor looked at Irvine. “Which is why I’m here. I need to hire your services, Mr. Kinneas.”

He blinked. “My services? I’m a cowboy, sir.”

“I’m aware. But, you have a gun, don’t you?”

Irvine hesitated. “Yes, I do. It’s locked up, though.” That was a lie, although only in a technical sense. His rifle was not locked in a chest as it had been during the summer, but rather still underneath Kuja’s bureau in his bags. But, Kuja’s bedroom door was locked, so it was technically locked up and out of reach.

“Then unlock it. I have need of your skills.” The mayor gestured at himself. “I am a man of business, not a man of arms. Surely you, as a cowboy, have experience having to find and retrieve a steer or chocobo that has wandered away from its brethren?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Then I wish you to do the same for me. Go to the ranch owned by Kefka Palazzo, and retrieve Miss Quistis safely.”

Irvine considered the request. “I’ll likely meet resistance there. It’s not as simple as finding a hen that wandered off from the flock.”

“That is why I would suggest bringing your gun.” The mayor gestured at the door. “I have already spoken with the sheriff. Mr. Leonhart says that because there is a wanted poster for the members of the Palazzo gang, you are authorized to use whatever force necessary to complete your job.”

“Why can’t he just go get her?”

The mayor frowned. “While the sheriff understands my wish to have Quistis returned to town and the safe keeping of Miss Kuja, technically the person who has removed her from town is her father, and so no crime has been committed.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Most of Kefka’s posse is just hired hands, and he dismisses them during the winter months because there’s no work to be done.” The mayor counted off on his gloved fingers. “Aside from Kefka, there will just be a few of his more loyal men. And Seifer Almasy, more than likely.” He smiled grimly at Irvine. “You’d be doing people around here a fair favor if you got an itchy trigger finger, Mr. Kinneas.”

Irvine pursed his lips and looked at Kuja. The saloon keeper had his gaze slightly averted, and seemed to be focused more on the sleeve of the mayor’s coat than anything else.

“What do you think, Kuja?”

“I don’t know,” Kuja said softly. “It isn’t safe for you to go alone.”

“They’ll be expecting me to send the sheriff and his lackey to get her,” the mayor said. “But I would rather send someone I can trust.”

“Why trust me?”

“Because,” he said, and inclined his head toward Kuja. “If it were Miss Kuja sending someone out to get Quistis back, I am quite certain she would be sending you.” He shrugged minutely. “You’ll be paid, of course, if that’s your concern.”

“Not exactly.” He didn’t want to admit that he was uncomfortable with the idea of charging in to a situation where he was likely outnumbered and out gunned. A cowboy was supposed to be fearless, after all. But, cowboy or not, Irvine hadn’t lived this long being stupid and reckless.

“Well.” The mayor paused, scratching at his chin. “It’s up to Miss Kuja if she wishes to go to the sheriff and ask him to follow you out and ensure your safety.”

“I’m not afraid to do it.”

The mayor gave him the faintest of smiles. “I didn’t say you were.”

 

And that was how Irvine came to find himself alone on his horse late in the afternoon, riding out to the ranch owned by Kefka Palazzo. He could not shake the feeling of unease as they crossed the empty plain. Annabelle’s hooves crunched loudly on the dead grass and frozen ground, and Irvine was quite certain that anyone present and on guard at the ranch would see his approach a long way off. He was not afraid, no, but he knew he was on a fool’s errand. He would likely be shot before he even got within sight of Quistis. This feeling of unease did not abate as the lonely little ranch house and stable drew into view. The cold winter air was still, and because of this Irvine could see the steady puff of breath coming from a figure leaning against the fence that lined the yard of the house. As Irvine rode closer, he got a better look at the figure.

It was a small slip of a man, lucky if he stood as tall as Irvine’s shoulder. Even bundled in a heavy dark red coat, the man looked thin and ill kept. His skin was pale, as though it were bone that had been left out in the sun and the snow for too long and bleached nearly white. He was wearing an ugly brown hat with a chocobo plume sticking out of the band, and a mess of blond hair was visible peeking out along the brim. The pale blue eyes staring out from under the hat were same color as Irvine had seen many times before on the pretty face of Quistis. He was all as the mayor and Kuja had described him to be. Irvine couldn’t help but wonder what had made Seifer choose this unseemly man over the beautiful keeper of the Desert Palace.

“You’re trespassing here, cowboy. I hope you know that.” Kefka Palazzo’s voice was high and thin, almost to the point of being grating on the ears. Irvine swallowed.

“I’m not here to cause any trouble, sir,” he said. “I was just sent by the saloon keeper back in town to fetch one of her employees. I was told I could find her here.”

Kefka uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his hips. Irvine saw the afternoon sunlight gleam on the gun holstered on the man’s right hip. The man’s mouth twisted into a sardonic grin.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, young man. I would suggest that you leave before you get yourself hurt.”

Irvine noticed a bit of movement at the front door of the ranch house. Seifer Almasy was standing there, filling up the whole doorway, hand resting on his gun. He was squinting in Irvine’s direction. Irvine cleared his throat.

“There’s no point in lying to me, Mr. Palazzo. I know Quistis is here. And she ain’t here of her own accord--you kidnapped her!”

“Kidnapped? Don’t be ridiculous,” the man said, his thin voice dropping into a growl. “Quistis desperately wanted to be back with her dear _Daddy_.”

“I’m sure if she had wanted to see you should would have made some effort to do so in the last eight or so years.”

Kefka barked a laugh. “Not with those arses in town keeping her from me!”

“I don’t really know what happened between the lot of you, and I don’t honestly care,” Irvine said. “I’m just here to bring Quistis back.”

“Well, that’s not going to be possible, now is it? She’s staying here with me, where she belongs.” He gave an irritated huff that shook his whole body. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let my little girl marry that man!”

“Doesn’t she get any say in this?”

“Of course not! Her having any say in her business is how she got into that mess in the first place!” He sneered up at Irvine. “Now, if you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my property.”

Irvine lowered his left hand slowly, letting his fingers brush lightly against his rifle. “I told you that I’m here for a reason.”

“Seeing as how you weren’t invited here, you’re trespassing.” Kefka’s hand went to the grip of his revolver, but he did not yet draw it. “And you can tell that poncy arse that it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let him marry my daughter.”

Irvine looked to the little house, where Seifer was still standing in the doorway. He glanced down at the little man, and then around at the stable and surrounding yard. It was all very quiet. He wondered how many men were sitting out of sight, waiting to be called into action. He swallowed.

“Before I go, can I ask you a question?”

“Make it a quick one.”

“What happened years ago to make Miss Kuja take your daughter from you?”

Kefka stared at him with cold blue eyes, and then gave an amused sniff. “It’s a lot more complicated than I think a kid like you could understand. But, in the simplest terms, Miss Kuja did not approve of a business arrangement I had made with Mama Ulti.” He spat on the cold ground, and Annabelle shifted uneasily on her hooves. “Everything is business in the end, kid. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Power is everything.”

Irvine’s brain worked for a moment. “A business deal?” He frowned. “You mean you were trying to sell your daughter to Mama Ulti.”

The little man’s eyes lit up. “Say, you’re not as stupid as you look, cowboy! I could probably find a use for you, if you weren’t playing for the wrong side.” He rubbed his bare white fingertips together. “Unless you’re interested in making a little extra money.” 

“I think I’ll pass on that.” Irvine watched as Seifer pushed away from the door frame and took a few strides toward the fence. The big man was scowling.

“No, no, I think I could use a new set of ears in town. Ulti’s only reliable half the time, anyways.”

“I’m not here looking for new employment. You know why I’m here.”

Kefka narrowed his eyes. “I do, but since that is out of the question, I’m afraid you’re no use to anyone.”

The little man was fast. Irvine scarcely was aware of him pulling his gun and firing, until he felt the sting of a bullet grazing a burning line along his cheek. Irvine pulled his own rifle, pointed at the man’s chest, and fired. Kefka dropped his gun, grabbing at his chest and sinking against the fence.

“Kefka!” There was an alarmed shout from Seifer. The big man pulled his gun and pointed it at Irvine, who was already adjusting his aim.

There was a crack audible at some distance behind Irvine, and Seifer dropped to the ground. 

Alarmed, Irvine looked over his shoulder. Another figure on horseback was approaching the scene. Irvine dropped down off of Annabelle. The horse snorted nervously and paced several feet away from the bodies. He looked to the house--it was still quiet. He cautiously approached the fallen men. Kefka was motionless on the frozen ground, a hand still clutching at his chest. A few feet away, Seifer had fallen on his side. Irvine stooped to inspect him and found him motionless, growing cold, with a bullet wound placed almost perfectly between his open eyes.

When Irvine righted himself, the figure on horseback was close enough to be identified. When he saw who the rider was, he felt as though his heart were struggling to escape through his throat.

“Kuja, what are you doing out here?”

“I don’t know,” the saloon keeper said in a soft voice. Irvine stared at him for a moment, thinking that the other man looked almost ridiculous in full dress, sitting on the back of a silver-grey horse, reins clutched in one hand, a rifle musket gripped perilously in the other.

“I had no idea you were that good of a shot,” Irvine said.

“You never asked,” Kuja said. “Your cheek is bleeding.”

“Kefka shot at me.” He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I am. Are you?”

“I’ll live.” He cast a look back to the house. “I haven’t gone in yet. If anyone’s in there, they haven’t shown themselves.”

“We should wait for the sheriff, then,” Kuja said. “I called on him before I left. He should be out here soon enough.”

“Why did you come out here? It’s dangerous.”

Kuja was silent, gazing over Irvine’s head. When he turned, he realized that the other man was staring at Seifer’s body.

“I was quite certain that if I didn’t, I’d never see you alive again.” Kuja’s fingers clenched on the rifle. “Though, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been hoping for a chance to shoot Seifer since he left me.”

“Remind me to leave the state if I ever decide to end things with you,” the cowboy said. Kuja snorted softly. Irvine held out his hand. “Give me your rifle.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’d rather the sheriff didn’t know you were the one who killed Seifer.”

“But I did.”

“I know, but don’t you think it might bring your femininity into question?”

Kuja frowned. “This is Colorado, cowboy. Not Paris.”

He sighed. “Fine, fine.”

“Are you upset with me?”

“What? No, no.” Irvine shook his head. “I’d be dead if you hadn’t come out here.” He looked back to Kefka’s body. “He was trying to convince me to double cross the mayor.”

“That arse.”

Irvine looked back to Kuja. “Is what he told me about Quistis true? Why you took her?”

“I didn’t really take her from him, I took her from Mama Ulti.”

“I see. You did the right thing.”

“Of course I did.” He shivered and rubbed at the arm that was clutching the rifle. “Hell, but it’s cold out here.” He shook the rifle. “Take it.”

Irvine nodded and put the rifle away in place of his own on his saddle. He heard a horse whinny off from the direction of town. “You got here after they were dead, alright?”

Kuja licked his lips and nodded. “Just get her out of there, please.”

“We will, hon.”

A few minutes later the sheriff and his deputy rode up on the grisly scene in front of the Palazzo ranch. Sheriff Leonhart’s face was set as grim as ever, but the deputy looked nervous.

“We thought we heard gunshots,” the sheriff said as he dismounted from his horse. “Seems we did.” He paced over to where Kefka had collapsed. He said nothing, and then looked at Seifer’s body. He murmured to himself: “It shouldn’t have come to this.”

“Any sign of the girl?” the deputy asked. Irvine shook his head and gestured at the house.

“It’s been quiet since I got here. I haven’t seen anyone other than Mr. Palazzo and Mr. Almasy.”

“That’s hopefully a good thing.” The sheriff retrieved a coil of rope from his horse. The deputy did the same and hopped down. “Miss Kuja, Mr. Kinneas, stay outside.”

“You sure you don’t want an extra man helping?”

“This isn’t your job,” the sheriff said.

“Technically, Mr. Palamecia is paying me to bring Miss Quistis back to town. So, it is sort of my job at the moment.”

“Suit yourself.”

Irvine grabbed Annabelle’s reins and led her over to Kuja. “Keep a hold of her for me.”

Kuja took the reins. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

The sheriff went to the front door and opened it slowly. He peered inside, and then gestured for the other men to follow. Irvine brought up the rear behind the deputy. The inside of the house was unremarkable from any other frontier home that he had been in, excepting that it was very dark and cold. There was a fireplace and a stove, and neither were lit. At first glance it seemed as though the place was long abandoned, but on the table there was a fresh loaf of bread sitting half eaten and six mugs scattered in varying levels of fullness.

“They must be hiding somewhere,” the deputy said.

“Keep looking,” the sheriff murmured.

Irvine looked in the small bedroom. There were two small beds, and a wooden chest next to a wash basin. He wondered where the rest of the gang’s men would stay when they were at the ranch. He doubted they would all sleep in the stable with the horses, and he had seen no additional housing. So, where?

He was standing by one of the beds, pondering this question, when he thought he heard someone talking. He looked over his shoulder--the sheriff was rummaging through a pile of old newspapers stacked in a corner, while the deputy peered out the windows. He heard another soft noise, like someone shushing a child. It was coming from the floor--or behind the wall, it was difficult to tell. Irvine peered at the wall, and realized that it was not just a wall. There was a door hidden there. He returned to the main room.

“Sheriff, I think they might be hiding in the cellar.” Irvine showed the sheriff the wall where he had heard noises. Sheriff Leonhart felt along the boards until his fingers caught at the edge of one that moved. It revealed a small door, that revealed another smaller hatch on the floor when opened. 

“Oh, that’s sneaky!” the deputy said, but quieted when the sheriff waved a hand at him. The sheriff squatted next to the hatch.

“This is Sheriff Leonhart!” the man said in an authoritative voice. “Your leaders are dead. If you surrender peaceably then I’ll see that you receive a fair trial. Otherwise, you’re going to be joining your fellows.”

Deputy Dincht shifted on his feet and licked his lips. Irvine tilted his head, listening. The faint sound of whispers was audible from underneath the hatch. Then, after a moment of quiet, the hinge creaked and the corner of the hatch lifted enough for a pretty little face to peer out.

“Sheriff Leonhart?”

“Miss Quistis, are you alright?” The sheriff lifted the hatch, and then offered the young lady his hand. She took it and mounted the creaky wooden stairs up to the main floor. She looked a bit frazzled, but whole.

“I’m alright, sir.” She noticed Irvine, and her eyes widened. “Is it true? My father is dead?”

“He is.”

She looked sad for a moment, but then shook her head and looked at the sheriff. “I’d like to go home, please.”

“Of course. Were you alone down there?”

“No. There are three of Seifer’s men down there. They let me go.” She hesitated. “That is, they let me go on the condition that they’re allowed to bury Seifer and my father before they surrender. They said that even though you and the town didn’t care for them, they did.”

The sheriff stared into the hatch for a long moment, and then nodded. “Alright. I can allow that, but if they run I’m shooting them.” He gestured behind him. “Irvine, take her home. I’m sure that the mayor will be glad to hear of her safe return.”

“Yes, sir.” Irvine shouldered his rifle and offered a hand to Quistis. “Come on.”

She took his hand, her face pinching a bit as she followed him outside. Quistis made a soft, distressed noise at the sight of Seifer still lying prone on the ground.

“Don’t look,” Irvine said. She shook her head. 

“I’m okay,” she said, though her voice said she wasn’t.

“Just look straight ahead, okay? See, someone’s here to help take you home.”

She swallowed, looking up and giving a little start. “Miss Kuja!” Quistis let go of Irvine’s hand and ran through the gate to where Kuja was standing next to the horses.

“Oh, Quistis, sweetheart!” Kuja hugged the young woman tightly. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Quistis sniffled softly. “I wasn’t gone that long, Kuja.”

“I know. I still worried.”

“What will you do when I marry and go away?”

“I’ll sit across the street from you and worry.” He gave her a squeeze. Quistis sniffed a laugh.

“You didn’t have to come for me.”

“Of course I did.” He looked at Irvine and flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Isn’t that right, cowboy?”

“That’s right, Miss Kuja.” He cleared his throat. “It’s awfully cold out here. Why don’t we head back to town?”

“That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it, Quistis?”

She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

 

_End Chapter 15_


	16. Year's End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year's end, story's end. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 16: Year’s End

The brief abduction and rescue of Miss Quistis caused something of a stir in the little town of Devil’s Ambition. For the next few days, the saloon was frequented by people well-wishing Miss Quistis or Miss Kuja, or coming to thank the mysterious cowboy for his bravery. The story, of course, mutated as quickly as it spread, and by Sunday morning in church it somehow also involved Kefka’s pet man-eating chocobo. Irvine didn’t have the heart to tell the townsfolk that he’d never heard of a chocobo actually trying to eat a human being before, and instead settled for trying to pass the supposed glory of what had transpired on to the sheriff and his deputy.

Sunday was new year’s eve. Irvine found it peculiar to be staying relatively cozy in the small town for the start of the new year. Most of his years he had been either down in Texas helping at the chocobo ranch, or somewhere out in the middle of nowhere on a cattle or chocobo drive. He had never had a real reason to stay in town before. And, he certainly considered Kuja to be a real reason.

“You know,” Kuja said as he checked on the pork roasting for the new year’s dinner, “if someone had told me a year ago that I’d be spending new year’s with you, I have laughed at them.”

“Well, we didn’t know each other last year,” Irvine said from his usual perch next to the fire.

“That’s true. But, I meant more that I didn’t expect to ever have another lover after Seifer. I thought I was done with all that business.”

Irvine smiled. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

Kuja closed the cooker and smiled back at him. “Yeah, I’m glad, too.”

He shifted on the stool. “So, um, about Seifer and Kefka.”

Kuja frowned and looked away. “Did you have to ruin the moment?”

“I’m sorry. Better to bring it up when you’re not cross with me.”

He shook his head. “I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is no. I don’t feel bad about shooting Seifer.” He made a face. “Honestly, I should have shot him two or three years ago. Would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Kuja hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay.” Irvine tapped a boot heel on the leg of his stool. “Have you talked to Quistis about it?”

“Not really. She seemed more upset by seeing the dead bodies than by who they used to be.” He sighed. “It’s for the better that way, I suppose.” He looked at Irvine. “So, if you’re worried that she’s harboring some ill-will against you for shooting her father, I wouldn’t worry about it too greatly.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Kuja said. He paced around the kitchen. “You know, in the eight years I took care of her, she never once asked to go back to see her father. Not once. At first, she would cry and want to see her mother. And I would tell her that she couldn’t because her mother had gone on to Heaven. But, when she got a bit older and more understanding of the world, I took her to see where her mother was buried.” He sighed. “She stopped asking after that.”

“She couldn’t have asked for a better parent than you, Kuja.”

He paused in his pacing. “I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Irvine said. “I’m a cowboy.”

Kuja laughed. “That makes you an expert on parenting?”

“Makes me an expert on bad parenting.”

They both laughed. Irvine got up, leaving the warmth of the fireplace to embrace the beautiful man before him.

“I suppose some level of expertise is better than none at all,” Kuja said.

Irvine just smiled and kissed him.

 

As the sun set and the last hours of the year wore on, Irvine and Kuja sat up on the porch above the saloon. They cuddled together against the cold, bundled in layers of coats and under several blankets and furs. Irvine was nearly certain that his face was going to freeze off, but he didn’t mind. If it did freeze, it would be stuck forever in a content smile. He could hear the sounds of laughter and music coming from across the street. The mayor was throwing a new year’s eve party that Kuja had politely declined to attend, stating that he had been nice enough to the man for one year.  
“What will you do when he and Quistis get married next year?” Irvine had asked.

“Not object during the wedding,” Kuja had said.

Irvine tilted his head back to look up at the sky. It was bright with an endless speckling of shimmering stars, and the light of the moon, which was just past full. He felt a strange sense of peace looking up at the sky. He had spent many a night gazing up at these same stars, while out alone in the middle of nowhere, accompanied by no one but chocobos and horses. It did not matter, he decided, if he changed the way he lived, or who he lived his life with. He was still himself. That would not change.

“The sky’s pretty,” Kuja murmured.

“Not half a pretty as you are.”

He snorted softly. “What will you do when I start to get old and lose my beauty?”

“I reckon I’ll sit here and be old and unpleasant with you.”

“Really?”

“I’d like to think so, yes.” 

“Well, that’s good.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, each contemplating their own thoughts. Irvine watched a shooting star streak a path across the sky. He said: “I’ve been talking with the sheriff and the mayor.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, about the bounty that was on the Palazzo gang. The sheriff says I’m owed eight-thousand for Seifer and Kefka, and a bit more for helping three others be brought in.”

Kuja gave a low whistle. “That’s a lot of money.”

“It is, according to the mayor, more money than the town has in its coffers to pay off.”

“Somehow I’m only slightly surprised.”

Irvine cleared his throat. “So, the mayor said he would pay me the reward out of his own pocket. It will be kept in the bank here for me to use however I would like.”

Kuja blinked. “What, really? Mateus said that?”

“He did.”

“I would never have expected such generosity out of him,” Kuja said.

“I’d like to give you half the sum,” Irvine said. “Since really it should be yours, and not mine.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You were there when I needed you to be, without me having to ask.”

Kuja swallowed. “Getting all sentimental on me, cowboy?”

Irvine smiled and bumped his shoulder against the other man’s. “I might be.”

“Well, that’s up to you, I suppose.”

They were quiet again for a few minutes.

“I was thinking, with the money I might buy some land near town and build a little place for myself,” Irvine said. He cleared his throat. “You’d, uh, be more than welcome to come stay with me there when you wanted to.”

“What, you’d give up being a cowboy?”

“I’ve been doing that job for years. I’m sure there’s other things I can do. Besides, I could get some work at the Highwind ranch if I needed it.”

“I suppose so. That would be up to you, Irvine.” Kuja chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I might like to visit you, though.”

“I would like that a great deal.” He shifted his weight on the cold wood. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to ask you to come and live with me there all the time, of course. I know you still have business to tend to here in town.”

“I could let Zidane handle more of it,” Kuja murmured. “He’s not a kid any more. Could use the responsibility.”

Irvine nodded in agreement and pressed his side against Kuja’s. Below them the sound of the party increased in volume, and broke into excited cheering and counting down.

“The second thing I want to do in the new year is go downstairs, light the stove, and open that bottle of whisky you gave me for Christmas,” Irvine said.

“Okay,” Kuja said. “What’s the first thing you want to do?”

“Kiss you, of course.”

Kuja smiled. Down the street, the church bell rang, announcing the end of the old year and the birth of the new. The crowd at the mayor’s party cheered and began to sing. Irvine shifted under the blankets to face Kuja, and the other man did the same.

“Happy new year, Kuja.”

“Happy new year, Irvine.”

They kissed, cool lips meeting in a simple but perfect union. Irvine felt a now-familiar flutter in his throat. He clasped Kuja’s hand under the blankets. 

“Do you love me, Kuja?”

The other man smiled and squeezed his hand. “I’d like to, yes.”

 

When Spring came and warmed the frozen land, Irvine went to the mayor of Devil’s Ambition and bought 500 acres of land. With the help of friends from the Highwind ranch, he built a house and a stable and a barn. He bought a small flock of chocobo hens to keep and sell their eggs for money. He spent his days watching over his birds, as he had in the past for others. Late in the afternoon he would hitch his horses to a buggy and ride into town. He would visit his friends there, stopping in at the Desert Palace for a drink and a few hands of cards. When the night was done, he would bundle his beloved saloon keeper into the buggy and take him home. The folks in town would sometimes express pity to him, because he and Kuja never married, and never had children. When they did, Irvine would just smile and tell them the truth: His years of wandering had brought him here to find love, and he had. 

And that was all he needed.

 

_The End_


End file.
